“See that chap with the sandy wig!” said he to Miss Sherriff, “he’s a baronet—Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, A.S.S., P.I.G., and nobody knows what else—he’s my chum; aren’t you, Dig? Sherriff’s sister, you know, make yourself civil, can’t you? Dig can make you laugh sometimes,” added he, aside, to his fair neighbour.
Then his genial eye roamed up and down the room and lit up suddenly as he perceived, with their backs to him, Railsford and Daisy dining happily at the next table.
He gave a whistle to Dig, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. Dig, who was in the middle of a pull at the ginger ale, put down his tankard suddenly and crammed his handkerchief into his mouth.
“Such a game!” said Arthur to Maple’s second cousin on his right. “Look round, behind you. Do you see them?”
“See whom?” asked the young lady.
“Those two. Regular pair of spoons; look at him helping her to raspberry pie. Oh, my word!”
“Who are they?” asked his neighbour, laughing.
But Arthur was at that moment busy attracting the attention of all his friends within call, and indicating to them in pantomimic gesture what was going on.
“Oh,” said he, hearing the question at last, “that’s Marky, our house-master, you know; and he’s spoons on my sister Daisy—just see how they’re going it. Do you want to be introduced to my sister? I say, I’ll—”
“Oh, no indeed, not yet,” said the young lady in alarm, “presently, please.”