The little dinner at Lane's passed off well, and the young Plungers enjoyed themselves to their heart's core, now that they were not under the jaundiced eye of their stern major, who envied them all their strong digestions and perfect livers; and, it is to be feared, they drank a little more champagne than was good for some of them. At the table Markworth was placed alongside a brother sub of Tom's, who was most communicative over his wine, talking in a low confidential voice with his elder companion, whom he wished to convince of his "mannishness," of horses, dogs, and women, as befitted a noble young soldier. During a pause in the conversation Markworth thought he might gain some information, and having an opportunity of putting in a word, asked-- "By the way, do you know any of Tom's people?" "Know them? By Jove! yes. Catch me there again, that's all!" "Why--how--what's the matter?" asked Markworth. "I thought everybody liked Tom?" "So they do; he's a brick. But Tom ain't his mother and his sister." "Certainly not," answered the other, agreeing with the indisputable fact; "but what of them?" "Well, the fact is Tom asked me down there last Christmas, and I never spent such a time in my life. They are very well connected, but see no people at all. The mother is a regular Tartar. There is also a sort of half idiot sister older than Tom. She has a pile of money left her, by the way; not a bad chance for any one in search of an heiress, who doesn't care about beauty and brains, and that sort of thing!" "The devil she has?" "Yes, by Jove! a regular pot of money; twenty thou' or more, I'm told. There's no elder son and nobody else, so Tom will inherit all the property when the old lady hooks it. There you have the family. I stopped with them two days, but it nearly killed me. Men of the world like us, you know, can't stand that sort of thing. Of course I had to plead regimental business, and get away. I remember the old lady--a regular she cat by Jove!--saying that she hoped my mamma--curse her impudence--would teach me better manners before she let me go out again. Did you ever hear of such a thing?" "Ha! ha! ha! a pleasant old lady, Harrowby; I do not wonder at your dignity being hurt. I must look out for her if I ever tackle her." "What, are you thinking of going down? Take my advice, don't: you'll be sick of it." "Yes, I may. Tom asked me, and perhaps I'll see some fan," responded Markworth--and there the conversation dropped. Later on, when he wished Tom Hartshorne "good-night," in reply to his repeated invitation, he promised to go. "And we'll start on Friday," said Tom, gleefully; "that will be the day after to-morrow, you know." "All right, I'm your man. Call for me at the `Tavistock' at twelve, and we can start as soon after as you like." "Done. That will just give us time to catch the 2:30 train. Good-night, old fellow!" And they parted.