“My dear, we met him by the merest chance, at Bonn, travelling with a friend of his; and he speaks a little German, and was very useful to us, and took one of the boys in his britzska the whole way.”
“Boys always crowd in a carriage,” says Sir Brian. “Kick your shins; always in the way. I remember, when we used to come in the carriage from Clapham, when we were boys, I used to kick my brother Tom’s shins. Poor Tom, he was a devilish wild fellow in those days. You don’t recollect Tom, my Lady Anne?”
Further anecdotes from Sir Brian are interrupted by Lord Kew’s arrival. “How dydo, Kew!” cries Barnes. “How’s Clara?” and Lord Kew walking up with great respect to shake hands with Sir Brian, says, “I am glad to see you looking so well, sir,” and scarcely takes any notice of Barnes. That Mr. Barnes Newcome was an individual not universally beloved, is a point of history of which there can be no doubt.
“You have not told me how Clara is, my good fellow,” continues Barnes. “I have heard all about her meeting with that villain, Jack Belsize.”
“Don’t call names, my good fellow,” says Lord Kew. “It strikes me you don’t know Belsize well enough to call him by nicknames or by other names. Lady Clara Pulleyn, I believe, is very unwell indeed.”
“Confound the fellow! How dared he to come here?” cries Barnes, backing from this little rebuff.
“Dare is another ugly word. I would advise you not to use it to the fellow himself.”
“What do you mean?” says Barnes, looking very serious in an instant.
“Easy, my good friend. Not so very loud. It appears, Ethel, that poor Jack—I know him pretty well, you see, Barnes, and may call him by what names I like—had been dining to-day with cousin Clive; he and M. de Florac; and that they went with Jack to the promenade, not in the least aware of Mr. Jack Belsize’s private affairs, or of the shindy that was going to happen.”
“By Jove, he shall answer for it,” cries out Barnes in a loud voice.