“Yes, my dear,” said his lordship, looking round for a way of escape. “I—I—I think it is her ladyship.”
“Not much doubt about it,” said Tom. “Now, Charley, old chap, take your header and get out of your misery.”
“Yes,” said Charley, “I suppose I must get it over.”
“Open this door!” cried Lady Barmouth, shaking it furiously.
“It isn’t a hanging matter,” said Tom, laughing.
“No,” said Charley, rather uneasily, “it isn’t a hanging matter.”
“And her ladyship can’t undo it.”
“No,” said Charley firmly, as he crossed the room to where the door was being shaken violently, “her ladyship cannot undo it.”
“Would—would you like to take hold of my hand, Maudey, my dear?” said Lord Barmouth in a faltering voice.
“Yes, papa, dear; and you will intercede for my dear husband,” said the young wife, clinging to him affectionately.