His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. Sanguine they were not. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. I’ll give you grandpére!’ ‘But milor’—’ ‘Pardon!’ No longer master of his actions, the general lurched forward, waving his cane.
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