“Mackerel-backed dragoon!” retorted the Duke, with an effort at liveliness. “Brew your punch!”
Matthew seized one of the lemons, and sliced it in half, chanting: “ One sour, Two sweet; Four strong, And eight weak! Shall you add a dash of pink champagne to it, Gideon?”
“I shall not,” replied Gideon, releasing the Duke’s shoulder, and beginning to measure out the rum. “Arrack, my child, nothing but arrack!”
“Only rustics use arrack instead of champagne,” said Matthew, in a lofty way, which he instantly regretted.
“Listen to our rasher-of-wind!” Gideon recommended, with a nod at Gilly. “Proceed, Matt! Any more airs of the exquisite to play off?”
Young Mr. Ware’s ready colour surged up again. “No, but it is so! Gilly, you go to all the ton parties! It should be pink champagne, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, of course, only Gideon has such nip-cheese ways!” responded the Duke, lifting a spoonful of well-pounded sugar from the bowl, and letting it shower back again. “Does Charlotte really wish to marry Thirsk, Matt?”
“Lord, yes, she’s in high gig!” replied Matthew cheerfully.
“Good God!”
“Well, she will have a very creditable establishment, you know! Oh, you are thinking that Thirsk is a bit of a loose-screw! She won’t care for that as long as he don’t spy too closely after her, and I dare swear he won’t, for he’s got a mistress in keeping, and has had for years. At least that’s one of the on-dits of town, and I should think it would be true, would not you?”