Mr. Thomasson cried, vastly horrified. 'How can you
say such a thing? Your excellent memory plays you false.'
'It does,' Soane answered, smiling sardonically. 'I remember. It was
seed sown for the harvest, you called it--in your liquor. And that
touches me. Do you mind the night Fitzhugh made you so prodigiously
drunk at Bonn, Tommy? And we put you in the kneading-trough, and the
servants found you and shifted you to the horse-trough? Gad! you would
have died of laughter if you could have seen yourself when we rescued
you, lank and dripping, with your wig like a sponge!'
'It must have been--uncommonly diverting!' the Reverend Frederick
stammered; and he smiled widely, but with a lack of heart. This time
there could be no doubt of the pinkness that overspread his face.
'Diverting? I tell you it would have made old Dartmouth laugh!' Sir
George said, bluntly.
'Ha, ha! Perhaps it would. Perhaps it would. Not that I have the honour
of his lordship's acquaintance.'
'No? Well, he would not suit you, Tommy. I would not seek it.'
The Reverend Frederick looked doubtful, as weighing the possibility of
anything that bore the name of lord being alien from him. From this
reflection, however, he was roused by a new sally on Soane's part. 'But,
crib me! you are very fine to-night, Mr. Thomasson,' he said, staring
about him afresh. 'Ten o'clock, and you are lighted as for a drum! What
is afoot?' The tutor smirked and rubbed his hands. 'Well, I--I was expecting a
visitor, Sir George.'
'Ah, you dog! She is not here, but you are expecting her.'
Mr. Thomasson grinned; the jest flattered him. Nevertheless he hastened
to exonerate himself. 'It is not Venus I am expecting, but Mars,' he
said with a simper. 'The Honourable Mr. Dunborough, son to my Lord
Dunborough, and the same whose meritorious services at the Havanna you,
my dear friend, doubtless remember. He is now cultivating in peace the
gifts which in war--'</p>'Sufficed to keep him out of danger!'
Sir George said bluntly. 'So he is
your last sprig, is he? He should be well seasoned.'
'He is four-and-twenty,' Mr. Thomasson answered, pluming himself and
speaking in his softest tones. 'And the most charming, I assure you, the
most debonair of men. But do I hear a noise?'
'Yes,' said Sir George, listening. 'I hear something.'
Mr. Thomasson rose. 'What--what is it, I wonder?' he said, a trifle
nervously. A dull sound, as of a hive of bees stirred to anger, was
becoming audible.