The valet gave a despairing sigh, and went over to where a court-cupboard stood, and opened it. “You’ll kill yourself, sir,” he said bitterly.
“Very likely. Do you think I care for that? Let me but tie one knot tight, and the sooner this miserable existence ends the better I shall be pleased! I shall see it out: I always do what I mean to, don’t I?”
“Yes, sir—more’s the pity!”
Sir Peter gave a dry chuckle. He waited until a tray had been laid across the arms of his chair, and the standish set upon it. Then he said abruptly: “That was a very different visitor from the other I received last night.”
“Yes, indeed, sir!”
“Cutter-rigged! nothing queer or yawl-like about him! knew his grandfather.”
“You did, sir? It seems a strange thing for him to be keeping the gate, but he’s very much the gentleman, of course.”
Sir Peter dipped the pen in the standish. “Impudent dog! He’s courting Miss Nell!”
“So I have been given to understand, sir.”
Sir Peter shot a look up at him. “It will do, won’t it?”