At any rate, Tyson had not been very long at Thorneytoft before Mrs.

Wilcox found herself arguing with Mr. Wilcox. She herself was impervious

to argument, and owing to her rapt inconsequence it was generally

difficult to tell what she would be at. This time, however, she seemed

to be defending Mr. Nevill Tyson from unkind aspersions.

"Of course, all young men are likely to be wild; but Mr. Tyson is not a

young man."

"Therefore Mr. Tyson is not likely to be wild. Do you know you are guilty

of the fallacy known to logicians as illicit process of the major?"

Mrs. Wilcox looked up in some alarm. The term suggested anything from a

court-martial to some vague impropriety.

"The Major? Major who?" she inquired, deftly recovering her mental

balance. "Where is he?"

"Somewhere about the premises, I fancy," said Mr. Wilcox, dryly. When all

argument failed he had still a chastened delight in mystifying the poor

lady.

Mrs. Wilcox looked out of the window. "Oh, I see; you mean Captain

Stanistreet." She smiled; for where Captain Stanistreet was Mr. Nevill

Tyson was not very far away. Moreover, she was glad that she had on her

nice ultramarine tea-gown with the green moirê front. (They were

wearing those colors in town that season.) At Thorneytoft a few hours later Stanistreet's tongue was running on as

usual, when Tyson pulled him up with a jerk. "Hold hard. Do you know

you're talking about the future Mrs. Nevill Tyson?"

Stanistreet tried to keep calm, for he was poised on his waist across

the edge of the billiard-table. As it was, he lost his balance at the

critical moment, and it ruined his stroke. He looked at the cloth, then

at his cue, with the puzzled air which people generally affect in these

circumstances.

"Great Scott!" said he, "how did I manage that?"

The exclamation may or may not have referred to the stroke.

Tyson looked at his friend with a smile which suggested that he expected

adverse criticism, and was prepared to deal temperately with it.

"Why not?" said he.

Stanistreet, however, said nothing. He was absorbed in chalking the end

of his cue. His silence gave Tyson no chance; it left too much to the

imagination.

"Have you any objection?"

"Well, isn't the lady a little young for a fine old country gentleman

like yourself?"

Tyson's small blue eyes twinkled, for he prided himself on being able

to take a joke at his own expense. Still it was not exactly kind of

Stanistreet to remind him of his mushroom growth.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024