"No, my dear: how could he? There was none on the table."
Off goes Master Alexander to his uncle.
"Uncle Frederick, mamma wants to know if you've been drinking Miss Betham's sherry."
"If you will tell mo who Miss Betham is, I shall be able to——"
"Don't you know Miss Betham, our governess? She has some sherry every day for lunch, and nobody else will take the sherry that's kept for her, and——"
"Never mind the boy," said John Hubbard, coming hastily forward, with an awkward laugh. "It was only a joke. I said you looked as dull as though you'd been drinking Miss Betham's sherry; we do keep a light wholesome wine for her, and for the servants, when they get ill, you know."
Master Alexander said nothing; but he resolved to inform Miss Betham of the "crammer" his papa had made use of. Nor did Uncle Frederick care to ask how a light and wholesome wine (which in reality would have blushed at the sight of a grape) was likely to have made him ill.
The Count rose abruptly, opened the glass door, and, without a word of apology to the ladies, beckoned his brother to follow. They passed out into the garden, and the Count began to pace heavily up and down the gravelled pathway under the trees.
"I can't afford to give up this so easily as you seem to think, Jack," he said; and he spoke roughly and angrily.
"I always knew you had a strong will, Frederick," said his brother, gently.