"Come on, Sir Richard...." Molly Lakington was calling me from the car.... "We mustn't miss the last part of the first act...."
Undoubtedly not, and with a nod to the youngster I stepped into the car.
"A good lad that, Bill," I remarked.
"Aye ... a good lad.... But not quite so good as the other," he answered, thoughtfully.
"He's good enough for Cecilie, anyway, old man, and that's saying a good deal," said Molly....
By the light of a passing lamp I saw Bill Lakington's face. He was smiling quietly to himself, as a man smiles when he has his own opinion, but refuses to argue about it....
"Besides, you scarcely knew the first son," pursued Molly. "I've heard you say so yourself."
"No, my dear, but I knew the first wife," answered her father, still with the same quiet smile. Evidently, on the subject of Betty Fingarton, Bill was adamant.
And at that moment we drew up at Daly's and the conversation ceased. We were in time for the last part of the first act as the girl had demanded—though apparently one priceless song about a Bowwow named Chow-chow had eluded us.... My sorrow at this failure on our part was heightened by the information that it was one of the best Fox Trots you could dance to.... I was very anxious to know what a Fox Trot was: in Uganda, as a form of amusement, it is in but little vogue....
But we'd missed it, and though I endeavoured to bear up under the staggering blow, I found my attention wandering more and more from the stage, and centring round the story or the sixteenth Earl Fingarton and his first wife Betty.