"Pshaw!" This was a single shot from the Maxim.
The baited youth looked vainly for assistance to Jimmy.
"But—er—aunt," said Spennie. "Really, I—er—I only just caught the train. Didn't I, Pitt?"
"What? Oh, yes. Got in just as it was moving."
"That was it. I really hadn't time to telegraph. Had I, Pitt?"
"Not a minute."
"And how was it you were so late?"
Spennie plunged into an explanation, feeling all the time that he was making things worse for himself. Nobody is at his best in the matter of explanations if a lady whom he knows to be possessed of a firm belief in the incurable weakness of his intellect is looking fixedly at him during the recital. A prolonged conversation with Lady Blunt always made him feel exactly as if he were being tied into knots.
"All this," said Sir Thomas, as his nephew paused for breath, "is very, very characteristic of our dear Spennie."
Our dear Spennie broke into a perspiration.