"Yes, my boy, she does; but I mean about her standing out in the balcony so much of an evening. You don't think--" "Think what, gov'nor?" "It's--it's--it's a devil of a way down into the area, Tom; and if she were--" "To jump over and kill herself? Pooh! nonsense, old fellow. Here, come up to my room." "I'm--I'm glad to hear you speak with so much confidence," said Lord Barmouth. "Yes, certainly, my boy, certainly. Dear me, I feel very faint." Tom took his father's arm, and led the way to his bedroom, where he placed an easy-chair for the old man, and then stooping down, drew a case from beneath the bed and a glass or two from a cupboard. "Why, Tom, my boy--wine?" "Yes, gov'nor, wine. Fizz. Pfungst's dry fruity." "But up here, Tom!" "Yes, up here, gov'nor. A man must have something to take the taste of this nasty wedding out of his mouth." "But how came it to be here, Tom?" "I ordered the wine merchant to send it in, and here it is." "But does her ladyship know?" "Skeercely, gov'nor, as the Yankee said." "But did--did you pay for it yourself, my boy?" "No; I told 'em to put it down in the bill. Here, tip that off." Tom filled a couple of small tumblers, and handed one to his father, who took it with trembling fingers. "But really, my boy, this is very reprehensible. I--I--I--I--as your father, I feel bound to say--" "Nothing at all, gov'nor. Tip it off. Do you good." "No, no, Tom, it's champagne, and I--I--really, I--Now if it had been port." "Tip it up, gov'nor." "I shall investigate the whole matter, Robbins," said a strident voice outside, and the door-handle began to turn. "Hi! Stop! Dressing!" cried Tom, frantically. "Do not tell untruths, sir," exclaimed her ladyship, sternly, as she entered without the slightest hesitation. "Ah, as I expected. Wait, till the servants are gone. Robbins, take down that wine." "Yes, my lady." "Not this, you don't," said Tom, seizing the gold-foiled bottle by the neck. "You knew that Lord Diphoos was having cases of wine up in his bedroom, Robbins?" "No, my lady." "You brought it up?" "No, my lady--Joseph." "Then Joseph knew." "He said it was cases of modelling clay, my lady." "That's right," said Tom, "modelling clay. Try a glass, mamma, to moisten yours." "Take away that case." "Yes, my lady." Robbins stooped with difficulty, picked up the case, and slowly bore it out, her ladyship standing in a studied attitude pointing the while. "Another time," said her ladyship, turning tragically to her son, and then withering her lord. "I have too much on my mind at present to trouble about this domestic mutiny." "Domestic grandmother," cried Tom. "There, you needn't make so much fuss about it. It was all your fault, mamma." "My fault, sir?" "Yes, I was driven to drink by trying to obey you, and being civil to Wilters. Hang him, he makes one a regular laughing-stock." "Explain yourself, sir."