“It is the lady I am proud to toast, and I ask the favour of you, Colonel Mellersh, of you, Mr Linnell, to come and play that air once through beneath her window.”
“Oh, nonsense, Rockley. My dear fellow, no,” cried the Colonel.
“My dear Mellersh,” said the Major with half-tipsy gravity. “My dear friend; and you, my dear friend Linnell, I pray you hear me. It may mean much more than you can tell—the happiness of my life. Come, my dear fellow, you’ll not refuse.”
“What do you say, Linnell?” cried the Colonel good-humouredly.
“Oh, it is so absurd,” said Linnell warmly.
“No, no, not absurd,” said the Major sternly. “I beg you’ll not refuse.”
“Humour him, Dick,” said the Colonel in a whisper.
“You are telling him not to play,” said the Major fiercely.
“My dear fellow, no: I was asking him to consent. Humour him, Dick,” said the Colonel. “It’s nearly two, and there’ll be no one about. If we refuse it may mean a quarrel.”
“I’ll go if you wish it,” said Richard Linnell quietly.