"When I was quartered at Halifax there was a fellow
who never sent anything but telegrams. Telegraph Jo they called him. He
commanded the old Bluebottles. You know the old Bluebottles? If Horace
is going to take to this sort of thing he'd better see a specialist;
it's almost certain to mean a breakdown. You're up about dresses, I see.
When do you come to town? The season's getting on."
Mrs. Pendyce was not afraid of her husband's brother, for though
punctilious and accustomed to his own way with inferiors, he was hardly
a man to inspire awe in his social equals. It was, therefore, not
through fear that she did not tell him the truth, but through an
instinct for avoiding all unnecessary suffering too strong for her,
and because the truth was really untellable. Even to herself it seemed
slightly ridiculous, and she knew the poor General would take it so
dreadfully to heart.
"I don't know about coming up this season. The garden is looking so
beautiful, and there's Bee's engagement. The dear child is so happy!"
The General caressed a whisker with his white hand.
"Ah yes," he said--"young Tharp! Let's see, he's not the eldest. His
brother's in my old corps. What does this young fellow do with himself?"
Mrs. Pendyce answered:
"He's only farming. I'm afraid he'll have nothing to speak of, but he's
a dear good boy.
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