"Heaven avert such a catastrophe."
"It would be very inconvenient—with a maid, and no end of luggage. One is not prepared for that kind of thing when one starts on a round of visits."
For Dopsy and Mopsy there was no such agreeable prospect as a change of scene from one "well-found" country-house to another. To be tumbled out of this lap of luxury meant a fall into the dreariness of South Belgravia and the King's Road—long, monotonous, arid streets, with all the dust that had been ground under the feet of happy people in the London season blown about in dense clouds, for the discomfiture of the outcasts who must stay in town when the season is over; sparse dinners, coals measured by the scuttle, smoky fires, worn carpets, flat beer, and the whole gamut of existence equally flat, stale, and unprofitable.
Dopsy and Mopsy listened with doleful countenances to Jack's talk about the big things he and his friend were going to do in Bengal, the tigers, the wild pigs, and wild peacocks they were going to slay. Why had not Destiny made them young men, that they too might prey upon their species, and enjoy life at somebody else's expense?
"I'll tell you what," said their brother, in the most cheerful manner. "Of course you won't be staying here after I leave. Mrs. Tregonell will want to be alone when her husband goes. You had better go with the Squire and me as far as Southampton. He'll frank you. We can all stop at the 'Duke of Cornwall' to-morrow night, and start for Southampton by an early train next morning. You can lunch with us at the 'Dolphin,' see us off by steamer, and go on to London afterwards."
"That will be a ray of jollity to gild the last hour of our happiness," said Mopsy. "Oh, how I loathe the idea of going back to those lodgings—and pa!"
"The governor is a trial, I must admit," said Jack. "But you see the European idea is that an ancient parent can't hang on hand too long. There's no wheeling him down to the Ganges, and leaving him to settle his account with the birds and the fishes; and even in India that kind of thing is getting out of date."
"I wouldn't so much mind him," said Dopsy, plaintively, "if his habits were more human; but there are so many traits in his character—especially his winter cough—which remind one of the lower animals."
"Poor old Pater," sighed Jack, with a touch of feeling. He was not often at home. "Would you believe it, that he was once almost a gentleman? Yes, I remember, an early period in my life when I was not ashamed to own him. But when a fellow has been travelling steadily down hill for fifteen years, his ultimate level must be uncommonly low."
"True," sighed Mopsy, "we have always tried to rise superior to our surroundings; but it has been a terrible struggle."