"No—did you though!" exclaimed my uncle George, spurs jingling again.
"B'gad, and did you though—dooce take me!"
"Aye, George, I did, but only very occasionally. Of course, were she free of this incubus Peregrine, free to live for her own happiness instead of his, I should have her wedded and wifed while you were thinking about it."
"Aye," sighed my uncle George, "you were always such an infernal dasher—"
"As it is, the boy will grow into a priggish, self-satisfied do-nothing, and she into an adoring, solitary old woman—"
"Julia! An old woman! Good God! Hush, Jervas—it sounds dooced indecent!"
"But true, George, devilish true! Here's Julia must grow into a crotchety old female, myself into a solitary, embittered recluse, and you into a lonely, doddering old curmudgeon—and all for sake of this damned lad—"
At this, stirred by sudden impulse, I thrust my head out of the window and hemmed loudly, whereupon they halted very suddenly and stood staring up at me, their surprised looks plain to see by reason of the brilliant moon.
"Pardon me, my dear uncles," said I, bowing to them as well as I might, "pardon me, but I venture to think not—"
"Now 'pon me everlasting soul!" exclaimed my uncle Jervas, fumbling for his eyeglass. "What does the lad mean?"
"With your kind attention, he will come down and explain," said I, and clambering through the casement, I descended forthwith, hand over hand, by means of the ivy stems that grew very thick and strong hereabouts.