“Yes, my lady.”
The Squire rubbed his hands, leaning forward. The adjustment of his strained relations with a faithful butler adumbrated the recognition of his authority by his son. Almost, he was beginning to enjoy himself.
“Capital! I shall not be hard on you, Ben. I flatter myself that I can—a—stand in another fellow’s shoes. The long and short of it all is that I want to—a—spare your feelings as much as possible, but—to go back to the very beginning—you made the wrong start.”
Fishpingle smiled. A sense of humour may be lively in a man who, all his life, has been constrained to suppress it, but occasionally it crops to the surface.
“It is perfectly true, Sir Geoffrey. My Christian name was chosen by your grandmother, Lady Alicia, on that account.”
Sir Geoffrey winced. To cover his confusion he said hastily:
“Did my grandmother choose it? I was not aware of it.”
“Her ladyship was my godmother.”
“So she was—so she was. Well, with the best intention in the world, my poor grandmother made rather a pet of you, Ben. B’ Jove! she liked you better than she did me. And that is the marrow of the matter. She deliberately educated you above your station. Mind you, I don’t blame you for helping yourself generously of—a—drinking deeply of—a——”
Fishpingle came to his rescue.