mortified.’
‘Quite so — but such a
rate of growth, sir: does this mean that by next year you will be a toothless
old man with a stick?’
‘As I shall then be in
my twenty-fourth year, I may as well be.’ He sighed. ‘What a horror growing
old is.’
‘Now this is
extraordinary,’ George cried, pumping his hand, ‘this — allow me to introduce
Mrs Templeton — Hugh Hanley, my love, you recall me saying — for I ran into
him, you, the other day, and I was telling Lydia about it — extraordinary
coincidence!’
It was, if anything, a
very ordinary coincidence; but it made George happy to go on exclaiming over it
until the supper-bell rang, whereupon he asked Hugh Hanley to join them in
their box.
‘I can only accept if I
can be assured I shall not be de trop: for this is surely a family
party.’
‘Oh, not in any special
sense, sir.’ Susannah dimpled.
‘No, no, you must sup
with us,’ cried George, who believed that every addition to a party was an
improvement. ‘You’re of the old Heystead set after all: and Lydia can perhaps
give you news of your uncle — you still see Durrant a good deal, eh, Lyddie?’
‘Yes, I dare say: though
I can’t think of any news I can give you, Mr Hanley, other than that your uncle
is very well.’
‘Which, of course, is
the very news I am not supposed to like, as everyone knows I am desperately
waiting for his decease so that I may begin wasting his fortune.’
‘Oh, come now, my dear
fellow, no one thinks that,’ said George: long exposure to Susannah was making
him immune to irony.
‘It is a miserably
ticklish situation, though, Miss Templeton, when you think of it,’ Hanley said,
as they were seated and the cloth laid. ‘If I do ask after my uncle, I am a
designing hypocrite: if I do not, I am a cold-hearted rogue. Put yourself in my
position.’
‘The sorrows of an heir.
You have my sympathy, Mr Hanley. Or, pardon me, should I be addressing you by a
military title?’
‘I hope you would never
do so in any event: it smacks of the parade-ground. But no, the officer in the
Regulars is yet to be, and the lieutenant in the Militia is no more. It has
been a thoroughly diverting occupation. One gets about the country, meets a
good deal of company, and is admired without the inconvenience of being sent
abroad to fight the enemy. Still, a man can only rise so far in the Militia;
and I am not such a hypocrite as to pretend I don’t want to rise.’
‘But the Tenth Light
Dragoons, now,’ George said, ‘this is aiming high at a stroke. The cost . . .
What shall we have?’ The oldest waiter in the world was hovering outside their
box. ‘Chicken and ham, of course. And salad. Shall we have wine, or cider? I
always say there is nothing like Vauxhall cider.’
‘The cost is excessive,’
Hugh Hanley said readily, ‘as it is for most things out of the common. The
regiment is, without doubt, the most fashionable of all; and that is why I want
to join it. I could oblige you with pious cant about duty and service instead
if you like, but I had rather be frank. There are connections to be
cultivated, influence to be gained, interest to be exerted, as they are not in
a common line regiment. The cost is really an investment.’
‘And is not the regiment
sometimes called the China Tenth?’ asked Lydia. ‘As it is too fragile to bear
rough handling, and chiefly devotes itself to guarding the Prince at Brighton?’
‘Another excellent
reason for choosing it,’ Hanley said, smiling, and not at all put out. ‘I
certainly did not join the army with the vulgar intention of seeing bloodshed.
But you may be assured that if Boney lands at Brighton, I shall be there with
my sword drawn ready to defend my prince. Or a bit of him. I do dislike these
references to His Royal Highness’s girth, but in truth it would take half a
brigade just to surround him.’
The cider appeared with
the ancient waiter — so ancient and shrivelled that when he turned away from
the
‘Quite so — but such a
rate of growth, sir: does this mean that by next year you will be a toothless
old man with a stick?’
‘As I shall then be in
my twenty-fourth year, I may as well be.’ He sighed. ‘What a horror growing
old is.’
‘Now this is
extraordinary,’ George cried, pumping his hand, ‘this — allow me to introduce
Mrs Templeton — Hugh Hanley, my love, you recall me saying — for I ran into
him, you, the other day, and I was telling Lydia about it — extraordinary
coincidence!’
It was, if anything, a
very ordinary coincidence; but it made George happy to go on exclaiming over it
until the supper-bell rang, whereupon he asked Hugh Hanley to join them in
their box.
‘I can only accept if I
can be assured I shall not be de trop: for this is surely a family
party.’
‘Oh, not in any special
sense, sir.’ Susannah dimpled.
‘No, no, you must sup
with us,’ cried George, who believed that every addition to a party was an
improvement. ‘You’re of the old Heystead set after all: and Lydia can perhaps
give you news of your uncle — you still see Durrant a good deal, eh, Lyddie?’
‘Yes, I dare say: though
I can’t think of any news I can give you, Mr Hanley, other than that your uncle
is very well.’
‘Which, of course, is
the very news I am not supposed to like, as everyone knows I am desperately
waiting for his decease so that I may begin wasting his fortune.’
‘Oh, come now, my dear
fellow, no one thinks that,’ said George: long exposure to Susannah was making
him immune to irony.
‘It is a miserably
ticklish situation, though, Miss Templeton, when you think of it,’ Hanley said,
as they were seated and the cloth laid. ‘If I do ask after my uncle, I am a
designing hypocrite: if I do not, I am a cold-hearted rogue. Put yourself in my
position.’
‘The sorrows of an heir.
You have my sympathy, Mr Hanley. Or, pardon me, should I be addressing you by a
military title?’
‘I hope you would never
do so in any event: it smacks of the parade-ground. But no, the officer in the
Regulars is yet to be, and the lieutenant in the Militia is no more. It has
been a thoroughly diverting occupation. One gets about the country, meets a
good deal of company, and is admired without the inconvenience of being sent
abroad to fight the enemy. Still, a man can only rise so far in the Militia;
and I am not such a hypocrite as to pretend I don’t want to rise.’
‘But the Tenth Light
Dragoons, now,’ George said, ‘this is aiming high at a stroke. The cost . . .
What shall we have?’ The oldest waiter in the world was hovering outside their
box. ‘Chicken and ham, of course. And salad. Shall we have wine, or cider? I
always say there is nothing like Vauxhall cider.’
‘The cost is excessive,’
Hugh Hanley said readily, ‘as it is for most things out of the common. The
regiment is, without doubt, the most fashionable of all; and that is why I want
to join it. I could oblige you with pious cant about duty and service instead
if you like, but I had rather be frank. There are connections to be
cultivated, influence to be gained, interest to be exerted, as they are not in
a common line regiment. The cost is really an investment.’
‘And is not the regiment
sometimes called the China Tenth?’ asked Lydia. ‘As it is too fragile to bear
rough handling, and chiefly devotes itself to guarding the Prince at Brighton?’
‘Another excellent
reason for choosing it,’ Hanley said, smiling, and not at all put out. ‘I
certainly did not join the army with the vulgar intention of seeing bloodshed.
But you may be assured that if Boney lands at Brighton, I shall be there with
my sword drawn ready to defend my prince. Or a bit of him. I do dislike these
references to His Royal Highness’s girth, but in truth it would take half a
brigade just to surround him.’
The cider appeared with
the ancient waiter — so ancient and shrivelled that when he turned away from
the
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