“Oh, bother the pigs—Yes, Selina, there were six little pigs, and one had a gun—here, play with my watch—Violet, darling, it has come to this, that both our lives will be wrecked by that old lunatic if we are not careful—the old Seagrave woman is aiding and abetting him. I have lots of money for us both, I love you, you care for me—let’s go in for a bold stroke. Look here, he’s always threatening to put you in Chancery—let’s outwit him. Once you are married he _can’t_ put you in Chancery, ’cos you’d be mine then, do you see?—There you are, take the whole watch and chain and play with it—Let’s give them all the slip. I’ll get a special licence, we’ll take the train to Dublin; you can stop at my aunt’s in Merrion Square—she’s a regular sportsman—and before they can stop us we’ll be married. I know it’s awfully sudden my proposing this, but what am I to do? Look at us—we can scarcely speak to each other, unless by strategy. And I know _this_, unless you do as I say, we will never be married, for you will never have strength to resist uncle; he’ll keep nagging to you till he breaks your spirit. And that beast of a Boxall—suppose he _has_ got seven thousand a year, money isn’t happiness tied to a brute like that. I have three thousand a year myself, and I’ll give up racing, I’ll give up smoking, I’ll give up everything for you. Promise me you’ll think of what I say—Bless you, my darling—Violet, darling, lean your dear head forward—no—well, I won’t—Now what is it, Selina——” “She has dropped your watch,” said Miss Lestrange. “And smashed it, too,” replied Mr Fanshawe; “and cheap at the price—Bless her, she’s asleep.” Selina, suddenly overcome, was in the arms of slumber, and at that moment the door leading to the night nursery opened, and Biddy Mahony entered in search of her charge. “She ought to a’ been in bed an hour ago,” said Biddy, as she took Selina from Mr Fanshawe; “but she gets wild when there’s company in the house, and there’s no sootherin’ her to slape.” “Grass-eyes,” muttered Selina, tossing her arms in slumber as Biddy carried her off. “She’s thinking of Mr. Boxall’s eye,” said Lord Gawdor. “Mr Fanshawe, one of Mr Boxall’s eyes is made of glass.” “Never mind Mr Boxall’s eyes,” cried Dicky in wild spirits; “come on, and we’ll have a game of Blind-man’s Buff.” -------------- “I say,” said little Lord Gawdor to Doris when Dicky and Miss Lestrange had departed, “when Mr Fanshawe had blinded us both I just lifted the handkerchief a wee peep, and do you know what I saw?” “I know,” replied Doris, “I _heard_ it; but don’t tell.” “Think I’m an ass?” said Lord Gawdor. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVIII AN INTERRUPTED FEAST