"How did you know it was Dutch, Lord Brasset?" piped a seeker of knowledge.
"By the behaviour of the hounds, Mrs. Arbuthnot."
"How did they behave?"
"The beggars bolted."
Sensation.
"My aunt!" said the occupant of the breakfast table with solemn irrelevance.
"So would you," said the noble Master. "I never heard anything like it. In my opinion there is no language like Dutch when it comes to cursing. And then, before I could blink, up went her hand, and she gave me one over the head with her crop."
Sensation.
"Upon my solemn word of honour. I don't mind showing the mark to anybody."
"Where is it, Lord Brasset?"