The Great Lady snorted.
"For three years, Reggie, you have filled a difficult office passably well. Don't let a little thing like this be your undoing."
"All very well, Mrs. Catesby, but I can't hit her over the head, can I?"
"No, but what about Fitz?" said a voice from the breakfast table.
"Ye-es, I hadn't thought of that."
"And I shouldn't think of it if I were you," said I, cordially. "Fitz with all his errors is a heftier chap than you are, my son."
Brasset's jaw dropped doubtfully—it is quite a good jaw, by the way.
"Practise the left a bit, Brasset," was the advice of the breakfast table. "I know a chap in Jermyn Street who has had lessons from Burns. We might trot up and see him after lunch. Bring a Bradshaw, Parkins. And I think we had better send a wire."
"I wasn't so bad with my left when I was up at Trinity," said Brasset.
Mrs. Arbuthnot shuddered audibly. She has long been an out-and-out admirer of the noble Master's nose. Certainly its contour has great elegance and refinement.