"Did he?" said the old gentleman. "It stands me in eight shillings a

bottle."

"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" said George, with a

laugh. "There's one of the greatest men in the kingdom wants some."

"Does he?" growled the senior. "Wish he may get it."

"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytop gave him a

breakfast, and asked me for some of the wine. The General liked it

just as well--wanted a pipe for the Commander-in-Chief. He's his Royal

Highness's right-hand man."

"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and they looked more

good-humoured; and George was going to take advantage of this

complacency, and bring the supply question on the mahogany, when the

father, relapsing into solemnity, though rather cordial in manner, bade

him ring the bell for claret. "And we'll see if that's as good as the

Madeira, George, to which his Royal Highness is welcome, I'm sure. And

as we are drinking it, I'll talk to you about a matter of importance."

Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat nervously upstairs. She

thought, somehow, it was a mysterious and presentimental bell. Of the

presentiments which some people are always having, some surely must

come right.

"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman said, after slowly

smacking his first bumper--"what I want to know is, how you

and--ah--that little thing upstairs, are carrying on?"

"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said, with a

self-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir.--What capital wine!"

"What d'you mean, pretty clear, sir?"

"Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm a modest man.

I--ah--I don't set up to be a lady-killer; but I do own that she's as

devilish fond of me as she can be. Anybody can see that with half an

eye."

"And you yourself?"

"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain't I a good boy?

Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?"

"A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings, sir, with Lord

Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards, the Honourable Mr. Deuceace and

that set. Have a care sir, have a care."

The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic names with the greatest

gusto. Whenever he met a great man he grovelled before him, and

my-lorded him as only a free-born Briton can do. He came home and

looked out his history in the Peerage: he introduced his name into his

daily conversation; he bragged about his Lordship to his daughters. He

fell down prostrate and basked in him as a Neapolitan beggar does in

the sun. George was alarmed when he heard the names. He feared his

father might have been informed of certain transactions at play. But

the old moralist eased him by saying serenely: "Well, well, young men will be young men. And the comfort to me is,

George, that living in the best society in England, as I hope you do;

as I think you do; as my means will allow you to do--"




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