‘Ah, that is easier said than done. I suppose I must give up this sort of life. I must marry again, and reform, and settle down into a quiet life, look after my tenants, attend the parish church, do my duty as a magistrate and a breeder of fat cattle, as my fathers before me. They seem to have been all highly beloved and deeply regretted. That is, if I read aright the inscriptions on their monuments in Sloville Church.’
‘They must have been if they were at all like their latest representative,’ said his friend sarcastically.
‘You be blowed!’ was the uncomplimentary reply. ‘I tell you what. I see the girl is acting to-night. I have nothing better to do—I’ll go and see her.’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No, I thank you; I’d rather go alone.’
‘You had better take me with you. You’ll get into another scrape. You always do when I am not with you.’
‘Thanks, but I think I am old enough to run alone. If I want your valuable aid I shall send for you.’
‘Do—I shall be here all right. It amuses me more to have a quiet rubber than to be tearing all over London by night after anything in petticoats.’
‘Ah, you are a philosopher.’
‘I wish I could return the compliment.’