“Justine, my drops, my drops.”
“She caves in! Charley, old chap, you may kiss her now,” cried Tom, “she won’t bite. There, take him to your heart, old lady; and I say, mamma, some day if you do faint, Charley could carry you to a sofa: Grantley Wilters would have doubled up like a two-foot rule.”
“I can never show my face in society again,” said her ladyship, “never, Mr Melton.”
“What!” cried Tom, who grinned with delight as he saw his mother seated upon a couch between Charley and Maude. “What? why, it’ll be no end of a game. It’s all right, Maudey; you’ve won.”
“Ah,” sighed her ladyship, “let Justine bring my drops.”
“Drops be hanged! Champagne,” cried Tom. “Here, ring the bell, gov’nor; no table-d’hôte to-day, mamma’s going to order a wedding dinner—a screamer.”
“No, no, Tom!”
“Yes, yes, my dear mother.”
Her ladyship sighed, smiled, ordered the dinner, and Lord Barmouth rubbed his leg.
“Tom, my boy,” he whispered, “you really are a wonder.”