"Yes, Lord Brasset," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, with an air of acute intelligence.
"A good opportunity to—to——" said Brasset, who in spite of his seriousness really looked absurdly young to be the master of such a pack as ours.
"Yes, Lord Brasset," said Mrs. Arbuthnot again.
"Yes, quite so, my dear fellow," said I, without, as I hope and believe, the least appearance of levity, for the uncompromising eye of authority was upon me.
"What's up, Brasset?" said Jodey, who contrary to the regulations was lighting his pipe at the breakfast table, and who combined with his many engaging qualities an extremely practical mind. "You want a glass of beer. Parkins, bring his lordship a glass of beer."
With this aid to the body corporeal in his hand, and with a pair of large, serious and admirably solicitous eyes fixed upon him, the noble Master made a third attempt to complete his sentence. This time he succeeded.
"The fact is," said he, "I thought this would be a good opportunity to—to"—here the noble Master made a heroic dash for England, home and glory—"to talk over this confounded business of Mrs. Fitz."
Mrs. Arbuthnot sat bolt upright with an air of ecstasy and the expression "There, what did I tell you!" written all over her
"Quite so, my dear fellow," said I, in simple good faith, but happening at that moment to intercept a glance from a feminine eye, had perforce to smother my countenance somewhat hastily in the voluminous folds of the Times.
"What about her?" inquired the occupant of the breakfast table, who, whatever the angels might happen to be doing at any given moment, never hesitated to walk right in with both feet. "I was saying to Arbuthnot and my sister just as you came in, that you people down here have got Mrs. Fitz on the brain."