"Hang me if I don't think it is," said Tom. "I'm going off directly, for the old girl's started to wig the governor, I'm certain. I shall go and back him up after giving my mallet to Wilters. Don't make me madly jealous." "Why not?" she replied, mischievously. "And be careful not to hit his legs," said Tom. "They'd break like reeds.--Wilters, will you take my mallet? I want to go." "Charmed, I'm shaw," said Sir Grantley, bowing, and being thus introduced to the game, while Tom lit a cigarette and slipped away. Meanwhile Lady Barmouth had captured her husband as he was moving off, followed closely by Charley Melton's ugly dog, which no sooner saw her than he lowered his tail, dropped his head, and walked under a clump of Portugal laurel out of the way. "Barmouth," said her ladyship, taking him into custody, like a plump social policeman, "I want to speak to you." "Certainly, my dear," he said, mildly. "What is it?" "About this Mr Charles Melton. What income has he?" "Well, my dear," said the old gentleman, "I don't believe he has any beyond a little allowance from his father, who is very poor." "And his expectations," said her ladyship, sharply. "He has great expectations, has he not?" "I--I--I don't think he has, my love," said the old man; "but he's a doosed fine, manly young fellow, and I like him very much indeed." "But you told me that he had great prospects." "No, my dear, you said _you_ had heard that he had. I remember it quite well." "Don't be an idiot, Barmouth," exclaimed her ladyship. "Listen to me." "Yes, my dear," he said, looking at her nervously, and then stooping to rub his leg, an act she stopped by giving his hand a smart slap. "How can you be so offensive," she cried, in a low angry voice; "it is quite disgusting. Listen to me." "Yes, my dear." "I went to see Lady Merritty about this matter, and Lady Rigby." "About my gout, my dear?" "Do you wish to make me angry, Barmouth?" "No, my dear." "I went to see her about this young man--this Melton, and Lady Merritty told me she believed he had most brilliant expectations. But I'll be even with her for this. Oh, it was too bad!" "What's the matter?" said Tom, joining them. "Matter!" cried the irate woman. "Why, evidently to gratify some old spite, that wretched woman, Lady Merritty, has been palming off upon us this Mr Melton as a millionaire, and on the strength of it all I have encouraged him here, and only just now refused an offer made by Sir Grantley Wilters. A beggar! An upstart!" "Bravo, mother!" cried Tom, enthusiastically. "So he is, a contemptible, weak-kneed, supercilious beggar. I hate him." "Hate him?" said her ladyship. "Why, you always made him your greatest friend." "What, old Wilters?" cried Tom. "Stuff! This Melton," retorted her ladyship. "Bah!" exclaimed Tom. "I meant that thin weedy humbug, Wilters." "And I meant that wretched impostor, Melton," cried her ladyship, angrily.