“Yes!” Mr. Andrew nodded, and glanced quickly at the ceiling, as if to make sure that none listened overhead. “My parliamentary duties will soon be over for the season,” he added, aloud; pursuing, in an under-breath:
“Going down to-night, Van?”
“He is to be buried to-morrow,” said Evan.
“Then, of course, you go. Yes: quite right. Love your father and mother! always love your father and mother! Old Tom and I never knew ours. Tom’s quite well-same as ever. I’ll,” he rang the bell, “have my chop in here with you. You must try and eat a bit, Van. Here we are, and there we go. Old Tom’s wandering for one of his weeks. You’ll see him some day. He ain’t like me. No dinner to-day, I suppose, Charles?”
This was addressed to the footman. He announced:
“Dinner to-day at half-past six, as usual, sir,” bowed, and retired.
Mr. Andrew pored on the floor, and rubbed his hair back on his head. “An odd world!” was his remark.
Evan lifted up his face to sigh: “I’m almost sick of it!”
“Damn appearances!” cried Mr. Andrew, jumping on his legs.
The action cooled him.