'That was in her saucy days,' said Mr. Tom, sadly. 'It's quite different now. Now she's on the pious lay.'
'The what?' said Frank King. It was clear that, however Mr. Tom had altered, he had not chosen to improve his manner of speech.
'Oh, High Church and reredoses,' said the irreverent youth. 'Silver embroideries, don't you know, and visiting the poor, and catching all sorts of confounded infection. And then I suppose she'll end by marrying that curate that's always about the house. What a shame it is! She used to be such a brick. And to go and marry a curate.'
'I heard of that, too,' said Captain Frank, with a bit of a sigh. It was indeed among the first things he had heard after returning to England.
By this time they had reached Mr. Tom's club, which was pleasantly situated at a corner of the great thoroughfare, so that it had from its coffee-room windows a spacious view, and was altogether a light and cheerful sort of place.
'But you don't ask about the Baby,' said Mr. Tom, as he was entering his friend's name in the strangers' book—the Waterloo being a hospitable little club that allowed visitors to come in at any hour. 'And the Baby is in a hole.'
'Well, it must be a sad thing for a baby to be in a hole; but I don't quite understand,' said Captain King.
'Don't you remember the Baby? The youngest—Madge?'
'Oh. Well, I only saw her once, I think. What is the matter with her?'
'First pick out what you want for lunch, and then I'll tell you.'