"Oh, it was charming," answered the duke; with more of the brogue than was necessary, for a lad who had been bred at Eton. "But, upon my honour," added Leinster, "the English are too stiff and abominable, for just as I had stripped and began to row they hallooed out, 'Wait for His Grace! where's His Grace? where's the Duke of Leinster?'"—as if His Grace, who happens to be a mere wild Irish boy of nineteen, was not allowed to amuse himself in the same way that other lads do. "I question if they did not expect to see me in a bag-wig," added Leinster.
Lord Molyneux waited to catch my eye and kiss his hand as he made his exit.
"You are driving away the vielle cour by expressing those vulgar ideas."
"I cannot help it," replied Leinster. "God Almighty has not cut me out for a fine gentleman."
"One word," said Fred Lamb, "and I am off, to make room for better men."
"I really will," I interrupted him in a whisper, not knowing how else to get rid of him, "I really will drive down to The Cock at Sutton to-morrow morning at about twelve, and inquire for you."
Fred Lamb's eyes brightened. "Swear it upon your honour and soul," said he, seizing my hand.
"I do swear," I rejoined.
He pressed his lips on the hand he held, in fervent gratitude, as he took his leave.
"I knew I should find my noble cousin the big duke here," said the young handsome Harry De Roos, peeping his Narcissus-like head into my box.