Mrs. C. and Miss F. soon made their appearance. Captain C., for some reason, did not go, which, as he was a man of sour disposition, inapprehensive of a joke, was lucky. By and by Mrs. B. and the guests of the evening--or, rather, the guest, Sir Hubert being sick--appeared. 'Indisposed to come, I presume,' said Colonel G. 'So I told him,' returned Mrs. B. As the drawing-room door opened, a half-caste 'writer,' dressed in livery for the occasion, announced Mrs. B. and Sir Charles Oakley, who immediately afterwards was formally introduced to Mrs. G. Irrepressible was the tittering amongst those who recognised in Sir Charles the jolly, fat, good-humoured Lieutenant Mac----ny of the 13th Dragoons; but under Colonel G.'s sharp supervision all held their peace. Sir Charles was in high spirits, made himself very amusing and agreeable, and was for the evening a real 'live lion.'
As soon as the introductions were over, Mrs. B. called Miss F. to come and sit beside her. Sir Charles was at the time standing near her chair, and a good deal of fun seemed to be going on between them, if that may be inferred from the laughter.
'You know the Marquis of Sevenoaks, I hear, Miss Freeman,' said the Baronet; 'an old schoolfellow of mine at Eton. Many a thrashing he's had from me. I was in the upper forms, and the Marquis was my fag.'
Miss F. opened her eyes very wide, and then exclaimed: 'Oh, but you're joking, Sir Charles! Surely you can't mean that you thrashed the young Marquis of Sevenoaks?'
'Why not, Miss Freeman? All fags get their share of licking, and why shouldn't he?'
'Oh, but it's so cruel; and the Marquis must have been quite a little fellow then. It's shocking to think that the bigger boys should have the power to thrash the little ones, and actually be allowed to do it, and in this case to a boy of such high rank--a Marquis. I really can't think it; you're trying to possess me' ('Upon my life!' said Mac----ny, 'I'm not') 'with absurd notions and imaginations. The idea of thrashing a young scion of nobility, quite as a matter of routine, as if he was no better than a tinker or tailor! It's quite preposterous and revolting, and seems almost an act of profanation! I never can believe it.'