“Because that is her invariable practice,” said Mr. Beaumaris bitterly. “You don’t suppose, do you, that I voluntarily adopted that animal over there?”
“You don’t mean Bella gave him to you? Well, that’s a great deal too bad of her! I must say, I thought it was a queer sort of a dog for you to have, sir!”
“The whole of London thinks it is a queer sort of a dog for me to have. Even the landlord of this tavern tried to chase him from the taproom!” He drew out his pocket-book, and extracted from it several banknotes, and pushed them across the table. “There you are: pay your shot here, redeem whatever lies in pawn, and book yourself the box-seat on the first stage to Harrowgate. I believe the northern-bound coaches leave at some godless hour of the morning, so you had better spend tonight at whatever inn they set out from. A few days in the fresh air will, I trust, repair the ravages of all the brandy you imbibed, and make it possible for you to meet your father without arousing suspicion.”
Bertram tried to speak, failed, tried once more, and managed to say in a very gruff voice: “I c-can’t thank you as I should, and of course I know it is for Bella’s sake! But I can do one thing, and I will! I shall confess the whole to my father, sir, and—and if he says I may not join a Hussar regiment, after behaving so badly, well—well it will serve me right!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Beaumaris, “that is very noble of you, of course, but I have always found it to be an excellent plan, before one indulges in an orgy of expiation, to consider whether the recipient of the sort of confession you have in mind may not be made to suffer a great deal of quite unnecessary pain.”
Bertram was silent for a moment, as this sank into his brain. “You don’t think I should tell my father, sir?”
“I not only don’t think you should: I utterly forbid you to mention the matter to him.”
“I don’t quite like to deceive him,” Bertram said shyly. “You see—”
“I am sure you don’t, so if your mind is set on doing penance, that will serve your turn excellently. You have been staying in Berkshire with Scunthorpe. Just bear that in mind, and forget that you have ever been within ten miles of London!” He rose, and held out his hand. “Now I must go. Don’t harrow yourself with thinking that you have broken all the ten commandments! You have only done what four out of five young fools do, if set loose upon the town. Incidentally, you have acquired a deal of valuable experience, and when next you come to London you will do much better.”
“I shall never be able to show my face in London again, sir,’ said Bertram wistfully. “But thank you!”