The Viscount carved himself a slice of beef. “Never fear,” he said. “I’ve seen to it no one will talk. I told Pom to set it about I was drunk.”
“That was indeed thoughtful of you,” said Rule dryly. “Do you know, Pelham, I am almost annoyed with you?”
The Viscount laid down his knife and fork and said resignedly : “Burn it if I see why you should be!”
“I have a constitutional dislike of having my hand forced,” said Rule. “I thought we were agreed that I should be allowed to—er—manage my affairs alone, and in my own way.”
“Well, so you can,” said the Viscount. “I ain’t stopping you.”
“My dear Pelham, you have—I trust—already done your worst. Until this lamentable occurrence your sister’s partiality for Lethbridge was not such as to attract any—er—undue attention.”
“It attracted that little worm’s attention,” objected the Viscount.
“Do, Pelham, I beg of you, allow your brain the indulgence of a little thought,” sighed his lordship. “You forget that Crosby is my heir. The only sustained emotion I have ever seen him display is his violent dislike of my marriage. He has made the whole world privy to it. In fact, I understand he causes considerable amusement in Polite Circles. Without your ill-timed interference, my dear boy, I venture to think that his remark would have been considered mere spite.”
“Oh!” said the Viscount, rather dashed. “I see.”
“I had hoped that you might,” said Rule.