ever knew that she was in the room. I
remember sayin' to her once, 'Mrs. Lutheran, now what do you like besht
in all the world?' and what do you think she answered? 'Music!' Haw!"
The voice of Mabbey said:
"He was always a dark horse, Foliot: It 's always the dark horses that
get let in for this kind of thing"; and there was a sound as though he
licked his lips.
"They say," said the voice of the host, "he never gives you back a
greeting now. Queer fish; they say that she's devoted to him."
Coming so closely on his meeting with this lady, and on the dream from
which he had awakened, this conversation mesmerised the listener behind
the hedge.
"If he gives up his huntin' and his shootin', I don't see what the deuce
he 'll do; he's resigned his clubs; as to his chance of Parliament--"
said the voice of Mabbey.
"Thousand pities," said Sir James; "still, he knew what to expect."
"Very queer fellows, those Foliots," said the Commodore. "There was his
father: he 'd always rather talk to any scarecrow he came across than to
you or me. Wonder what he'll do with all his horses; I should like that
chestnut of his."
"You can't tell what a fellow 'll do," said the voice of Mabbey--"take to
drink or writin' books. Old Charlie Wayne came to gazin' at stars, and
twice a week he used to go and paddle round in Whitechapel, teachin'
pothooks--"
"Glennie," said Sir James, "what 's become of Smollett, your old keeper?"
"Obliged to get rid of him." Shelton tried again to close his ears, but
again he listened. "Getting a bit too old; lost me a lot of eggs last
season."
"Ah!" said the Commodore, "when they oncesh begin to lose eggsh--"
"As a matter of fact, his son--you remember him, Sir James, he used to
load for you?--got a girl into trouble; when her people gave her the
chuck old Smollet took her in; beastly scandal it made, too. The girl
refused to marry Smollett, and old Smollett backed her up. Naturally, the
parson and the village cut up rough; my wife offered to get her into one
of those reformatory what-d' you-call-'ems, but the old fellow said she
should n't go if she did n't want to. Bad business altogether; put him
quite off his stroke. I only got five hundred pheasants last year
instead of eight."
There was a silence. Shelton again peeped through the hedge. All were
eating pie.
"In Warwickshire," said the Commodore, "they always marry--haw--and live
reshpectable ever after."
"Quite so
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