But Dolly was in perfect temper. He declared himself as devoid of doubt as a minor prophet, and having calmed the rising emotions of the lady, said, with the greatest sang-froid,—
“Lend me the snuff-box till to-morrow at this hour, and I’ll bring you the two hundred. Yes, and a fifty into the bargain.”
“Only a loan, mind,” stipulated the girl, who, like most of her charming sex, had a mind irrevocably fixed on the main chance.
“Of course—only a loan,” replied the elated Tom; “d’ye think I’m going to turn snuff-taker?”
Whether Tom’s logic or the hope of Tom’s money mollified Miss Dot, it is certain that when, an hour after, he left Laburnum Villa, Regent’s Park, N.W., he had the snuff-box in his pocket.
It was from Lady Lundy that his lordship had imbibed his religion and his philanthropy. She was, indeed, a marvellous woman, and had been known on at least one occasion to take the chair from which indisposition had driven her husband. If ever a nobleman could have been said to be hen-pecked, that devoted aristocrat was Lord Lundy. And Tom, although more audacious in his expressions of defiance, also stood in considerable awe of his mother. When on the evening of the day during which all the events of this unvarnished tale arrived, Tom sat down to dinner, both his father and his mother were surprised at the flow of his animal spirits, the redundancy of his anecdotes, and the impudent way in which he relegated to some future occasion all discussion concerning Outcast London, or the heathen living in dark places of the earth.
Being a Christian household, certain Christian customs were observed in the Lundy establishment; so when Lady Lundy left the room her husband and her son remained to discuss a glass of claret.
“You seem in excellent spirits to-night, my boy,” said the father. And the remark was not uncalled for; because when last father and son had met, the latter was extremely downcast.
“Pretty well, thank you,” replied the youth.
“And to what may I attribute this change?”