"Driesen," he said, "we have all been young men in our days, and so I suppose I must overlook it. But I am afraid that boy of mine, Charles, is playing the fool, and as far as Lucy Effingham is concerned, the blackguard too. He has twice ridden out for three or four hours at a time down to the seaside, and I hear there is a girl there that he goes to see. This shooting to which he has taken, within this day or two, has, I fancy, the same object. You know what a good shot he is, and yet he brings back very little game. There is evidently something going on, Driesen: I see his gun brought down, the gamekeepers waiting, and everything ready. Now it's an even chance, that he brings home no more than half a dozen partridges and a cock-sparrow after being out for four or five hours." "There are two classes of consummate fools in the world," replied Mr. Driesen, "the fools that cannot open their eyes, and the fools that cannot shut them. The first are very annoying to everybody round them. But the second are very annoying to everybody else and themselves too. Pray, Tyrrell, take care of what you are about," and turning round, he went on with the newspaper, without waiting for any reply. Sir Francis, however, would most likely have given him one spontaneously, for he was not a man to be called a fool without having his revenge. But his attention was turned in another way by the entrance of his son. Charles was dressed for shooting; but his countenance was very pale, and he was evidently a good deal agitated. "I wish to speak with you, sir, for a moment," he said, addressing his father somewhat abruptly. "Well," exclaimed Sir Francis, staring him in the face, "if you come to speak, why don't you speak?" "Because, sir," replied Charles, "I think on every account, what I have to say, ought to be said in private." "Oh, nonsense," replied Sir Francis, "here is nobody but Driesen. Solemn conferences, my most sage and erudite son, always require protocols; and here is Driesen, shall put them down for us." "Well, sir, if you insist upon it," replied Charles, "I must go on. What I came to speak to you about, was the subject of my mother." "Well, sir, what of her?" interrupted Sir Francis, "I hope she is well this morning." "Neither so well in mind or body, sir, as she might be," replied Charles, "but it is in reference to a conversation with you immediately previous to her illness, that she has desired me to speak with you." "I suppose she has told you that that conversation produced her illness," exclaimed Sir Francis, sharply, "but you will learn, young man, some day, that women can falsify the truth." "Nearly as well as men," added Mr. Driesen, suddenly rising, and moving toward the door. "You two fiery gentlemen make the room too hot for any cool and quiet person; so I shall quit it." "And the house too, if you please, sir," said Sir Francis Tyrrell, in a loud tone.