“Don't ask me now. I—I promise to tell you later—some time later.”
“I'll see myself——! I mean, you're talking nonsense.”
Eva's lip trembled.
“Hi, hist! Eva, my dear,” said Mr. Rentoul; “if you're wanting the money badly, and your papa doesn't see his way——”
He concluded his sentence with a wink and a dive into his trousers-pocket, and a minute later Eva had fled from the room again.
This action of the sage, being at total variance to his ordinary habits (which indeed erred on the economical side), was attributed by his irate host—with a certain show of reason—to the mere intention of annoying him; and the conversation took a more acrimonious turn than ever. In fact, when Eva returned a few minutes later she was just in time to hear her father thunder in an infuriated voice—
“A German waiter, is he? Aye, that's verra probable, verra probable indeed. In fact I might have known it when I saw you and him swilling a bottle and a half of my best port together! Birds of a feather—aye, aye, exactly!”
The crushing retort which the sage evidently had ready to heap upon the fire of this controversy was anticipated by Miss Gallosh.
“He isn't a German waiter, papa! He is a German BARON—and an ambassador, too!”
The four started and stared at her.