"Forty-two, almost."
"And I'm forty-five—quite. And i' faith, Jack, when the curst disease plagues men of our age 'tis there to stay. None the less, man Jack, if ya' love her, why then Belinda's not for me——"
"Belinda!" exclaimed the Major.
"Aye, who else? What the dooce, man?"
"I—egad, George, I thought—"
"What did ya' think?"
"'Twas Lady Betty you had in mind."
"Lady Bet——!" The Colonel whistled. "So-ho!" he exclaimed and turned, full of eager questions but seeing how the Major scowled into the fire again, sipped his wine instead and thereafter changed the subject abruptly.
"Ya'r Viscount's a fine lad, Jack!" The Major's brow cleared instantly.
"Aye, indeed, Tom's a man, 'spite all his modish airs and affectations, a man! Where is he, by the way?"