“Done!” said Lord George. “Two to one she screams.”
“Done!” said Dashwood; and he hoped that, by proposing this bet, he had provided his pupil with an object for the whole morning. But Lord George was not so easily roused immediately after breakfast. “It looks terribly like rain,” said he, going back and forward irresolutely between the door and the window. “Do you think it will rain, hey?”
“No, no; I’m sure it will not rain.”
“I wouldn’t lay two to one of that, however: look at this great cloud that’s coming.”
“Oh! it will blow over.”
“I don’t know that,” said Lord George, shaking his head with great solemnity. “Which way is the wind?” opening the window. “Well, I believe it may hold up, hey?”
“Certainly—I think so.”
“Then I’ll call black Tom, hey?—though I think one grows tired of going upon the water,” muttered his lordship, as he left the room. “Couldn’t one find something better?”
“Nothing better,” thought Dashwood, “but to hang yourself, my lord, which, I’ll be bound, you’ll do before you are forty, for want of something better. But that’s not my affair.”
“Where’s mademoiselle?” cried Lady Augusta, entering hastily, with a bow and arrow in her hand: “I’ve lost my quiver: where’s mademoiselle?”