"Hum!" quoth my uncle Jervas, dropping his glass to tenderly stroke his somewhat too prominent chin.
"And might we humbly venture to enquire as to the condition?"
"Merely this, sir; so soon as Aunt Julia is freed of her incubus—so soon as I am gone—you will see to it she is not lonely. You will woo her, beginning at once, both together or turn about, because I would not have her—this best, this noblest and most generous of women—forfeit anything of happiness on my account; because, having neither father nor mother that I ever remember, the love and reverence that should have been theirs I have given to her."
"Lord!" exclaimed my uncle George, clashing his spurs suddenly. "Lord love the lad—begad—oh, the dooce!"
As for uncle Jervas, forgetting his languor, he stood suddenly erect, frowning, his chin more aggressive than ever.
"You haven't been drinking, have you, Peregrine?" he demanded.
"No, sir!"
"Then you must be mad!"
"I think not, sir. Howbeit, I shall go!"
"Preposterousandamridiculous!" he exclaimed in a breath.