“Why unfortunate, my lord?” she asked, smiling.
“Why, because I am told he plays second fiddle at home, and a devilish deal out of tune too, in general. You play first, ma'am; but they say, notwithstanding, that there's a plentiful lack of harmony in your concerts.”
“All,” she replied, “your lordship must still have your joke, I perceive; but, at all events, I am glad to see you in such spirits.”
“Well, you may thank your son for that. I say, Tom,” he added, addressing his niece, “he's a devilish good fellow; a queer chap, and I like him. Woodward, this is Tom Riddle, my niece. This scamp, Tom, is that woman's son, Mr. Woodward. He's an accomplished youth: I'll be hanged if he isn't. I asked him how many intrigues he has had, and he replied, with a dolorous face, only half a dozen yet. He only committed two murders, he says; and when I asked him if he thought there was any probability of his being hanged, he replied that, from a review of his past life, and what he contemplated in the future, he had little doubt of it.”
Harry Woodward was indeed, a most consummate tactician. From the moment Miss Riddle entered the room, his air and manner became that of a most polished gentleman; and after bowing to her when introduced, he cast, from time to time, a glance at her, which told her, by its significance, that he had only been gratifying her uncle by playing into his whims and eccentricities. In the meantime the heart of Mrs. Lindsay bounded with delight at the progress which she saw, by the complacent spirit of the old peer, honest and adroit Harry had made in his good opinion.
“Miss Riddle,” said he, “his lordship and I have been bantering each other; but although I considered myself what I may term, an able hand at it, yet I find I am no match for him.”
“Well, not exactly, I believe,” replied his lordship; “but, notwithstanding, you are one of the best I have met.”
“Why, my lord,” replied Woodward, “I like the thing; and, indeed, I never knew any one fond of it who did not possess a good heart and a candid disposition; so, you see, my lord, there is a compliment for each of us.”
“Yes, Woodward, and we both deserve it.”
“I trust Mr. Woodward,” observed his niece, “that you don't practise your abilities as a banterer upon our sex.”