“Richard!” cried Mrs Brandon, in a tone of remonstrance, “you surely would not have that boy down to dinner now!”
“Why not, my dear sister?” he said, as they reached the drawing-room floor.
“After breaking that vase?”
“Never mind the vase, Fanny.”
“And nearly killing his cousin?”
“Nonsense, my dear, partial, motherly judge. Lookers-on see most of the game,” said Uncle Richard good-humouredly. “I was looking on from the landing for some time, and from what I saw, I have no hesitation in saying that Master Tom got as good as he gave.”
“But oh, Richard!”
“Tut—tut! Listen to me, my dear. Boys will quarrel and fight sometimes. I can remember a good many sets-to with Jem when we were young. These two have fought, and it’s all over.”
“But you really don’t know,” began Mrs Brandon.
“Oh yes, I do. Master Tom is not perfect. There, there, forget it all now; and let me send you a vase to replace the one broken. By the way, I hope they will not be long with that dinner.”