"What a child you are, Tom Moore!"
"Child," he repeated. "Child? Maybe I am, Bessie, but when you are called 'Mama' it won't be by me, though I think I 'll not be far off."
"Oh!" she cried, and slammed the door.
Chapter Six
TWO GENTLEMEN OF WEALTH AND BREEDING
It is doubtful if a search prosecuted through the entire extent of the United Kingdoms over which the Prince of Wales ruled as Regent would have brought forth a more debonair or contented individual than Sir Percival Lovelace, gentleman, libertine, and chosen comrade of His Royal Highness. In the eyes of this gallant, morals were a mark of ancient barbarism that gentle breeding and a long line of ancestors should be expected to remove or render forgotten. As these views coincided almost exactly with those cherished by the First Gentleman of Europe, it is not to be wondered that the Prince found in the baronet an agreeable and, more than that, an amusing companion. But even London may pall upon one and, not being hampered by the restrictions limiting the peregrinations of royalty, which were often the cause for much princely profanity at Carlton House, Sir Percival sought change and diversion in a jaunt through Scotland and Wales, finally ending in a tour of Ireland, where, much to his surprise, he stumbled upon certain persons destined to furnish him with more or less food for thought for the next year or two. His companion on his travels was none other than Lord Brooking, nephew of Lord Moira, already known as one of England's most capable statesmen. The young gentleman first mentioned was quite popular in the Regent's set, but more widely known in the circles from whence the various arts drew encouragement and patronage. But, in spite of his leanings toward the more cultured pursuits scantily patronized by the profligate society immediately surrounding the Regent, Lord Brooking was much more popular with that noble gentleman than many whose daily and nightly labor was the effort to curry favor with England's ruler. Lord Brooking was no ordinary personage. There was small flavor of the roué in his character, though it cannot be denied that, following the general current of fashion, he had not hesitated to play his part in the masque of dissipation offered as entertainment to the middle and lower classes by the aristocracy whom they were expected to envy and admire. But in his heart he felt only regret for his own participation in such unworthy extravagance, and, in most instances, a profound contempt for those who found diversion and contentment in such existence. There were two conspicuous exceptions to his lordship's general condemnation. The first was Richard Brinsley Sheridan, poet, dramatist, and statesman, now in his decadence, who still sought and furnished entertainment in society, a garrulous, drunken, and witty old gentleman, with a heart as young and a thirst as dictatorial as when Fame first brought him well-merited reward. The only enemies owned by this lightsome veteran were those foolish enough to expect eventual settlement of bills or loans that they were so unwise as to allow him to add to his long list of personal indebtedness. It is almost unnecessary to mention that disappointment was the subsequent conclusion of all such hopes of his deluded creditors, for Mr. Sheridan was consistent in one thing to the last--entire lack of financial responsibility.
The other exception was Sir Percival, who was so gay, so generous, so witty that Brooking, blinded by the glitter of a sparklingly brilliant personality, neither saw nor felt the hideous moral imperfections that this winning gentleman hid beneath his splendid exterior. The several peccadilloes really beyond all extenuation or apology of which the baronet had been guilty had never been brought to the attention of his younger friend and so at the time of which this tale is a chronicle it would have been difficult to find two closer cronies than this pair of young noblemen, who were strolling leisurely in the direction of the schoolhouse.
Sir Percival looked at Brooking quizzically.
"You do not approve, lad," he said with a little laugh. "You 're too good a fellow, I am afraid."
"I wish I could be as timid about you," replied Brooking, pleasantly.