“Philip,” said Father, in tones of deep emotion, “it seems to me that you—” And Father paused.
—Are going to the Devil as fast as you can, is really what your distinguished parent desires to say to you, but he is trying to say it without treading on your feelings, which is more consideration than you deserve, you blighter!—thus the Twin Brethren for the personal information of the Green Chartreuse.
No business of his if I am, was the very unfilial rejoinder of the latter.
“Philip,” said Father, after a pause, “your mother is very upset.”
Young fellow was sorry to hear it—very, but the weather is always so full of surprises in February.
Mother had not yet recovered, it appeared, from the most painful scene last Sunday afternoon with the grandmother of the Person.
As the occurrence had been reported to the great Proconsul, the Person’s venerable relative had not behaved as nicely as she might have done.
Son was awfully cut up about it, but he didn’t quite agree. With all respect to Mother, he could not help thinking that Miss Caspar’s venerable relative had been in receipt of provocation.
White eyebrows erected themselves archwise.
“But we won’t go into That,” said Father.