"It makes me sick!" declared Sir William. "You had better go a step further while you are about it, and and tell Carter how delighted we should be to welcome his ward into our family."
"That would be excessive," replied Lady Dering calmly. "Besides, I don't know that I should be altogether delighted."
"You surprise me!" said her lord, with awful sarcasm.
The arrival upon the scene of their son and heir put an end to this particular topic of discussion. Hugh Dering, in grey flannel trousers, and an aged tweed coat, came strolling across the lawn towards them, and sat down beside his mother on the wooden garden seat.
He was a large, and sufficiently good-looking young man, not quite thirty years old, who was engaged in building up a practice at the Chancery Bar. He had his mother's eyes, but his father's stern mouth, and could look extremely pleasant, or equally forbidding, according to the mood of the moment.
Just now, he was looking pleasant. He began to fill a pipe, remarking cheerfully: "Well, Ma? Secret conclave?"
"No, not a bit. Your father and I were just discussing tomorrow's party."
Hugh grinned appreciatively. "Ought to be pretty good value, I should think. Were you asked to shoot as well, sit-?"
"No, I was not," replied Sir William. "And if I had been I should have refused!"
"I wasn't nearly so proud," said Hugh, gently pressing the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe.