“Then you are happy?” he said, eagerly.
For answer she raised her eyes to his, and the game was resumed, for Tom and Tryphie came out of the shrubbery with the lost ball.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed his lordship. “Tom’s a sad dog—a sad dog. I was just like him when I was young.”
He glanced to the right and left, and, seeing that he was unobserved, drew out a d’oyley from his coat-tail pocket, and from within picked out a slice of tongue and a piece of bread and butter, which he ate with great gusto, but not without turning his head from side to side like some ancient sparrow on the look-out for danger.
He wiped his fingers carefully upon his handkerchief, put away the d’oyley, and smiled to himself.
“That was nice—and refreshing,” he said. “I don’t suppose Robbins would miss it, and mention the fact to her ladyship. Ah,” he continued, raising his glass once more to his eye, “they are having a nice game there. Why, damme, they’re all courting like birds in spring-time. But Tom’s a sad dog. He, he, he! I was just like him. I was a sad dog too when I was young. I remember once when I was at Chiswick, at the Duke’s—he—he—he! with Lady Ann Gowerby, I told her there was not a flower in the whole show to compare with her two lips, and I kissed her behind the laurestinus—damme, that I did, and—and—he, he, he! the old woman—the countess—came and caught us.”
The old man chuckled over this recollection till he had to wipe the tears out of his eyes, and then he had a fresh look at the croquet players.
“Tom, you dog,” he said, “the old lady will come and catch you, and then, he, he, he! there’ll be a devil of a row, for she means my little Tryphie for some one else. Eh—eh—eh? What! Look there now, Maudey dropped her mallet, and Charley Melton picked it up and kissed her hand. Well, it’s nice,” he said, smacking his lips, “I was a devil of a fellow to squeeze and kiss the little girls’ hands when I was a youngster, but now—”
He bent down to rub his gouty leg, and uttered a low groan as he continued—
“But they’re all going wrong, the silly young lambs; I wish Charley Melton was well off. Her ladyship will come over it all like a cloud directly, for I know—she said so—she means Tryphie for old Bellman, and Maudey for that Sir Grantley Wilter. Well, well, well, little gnats, enjoy your bit of sunshine while you can.”