"Uncle Jervas!" said I, a little thickly. "You look like a ghost,
sir!"
At this he started, but when he turned, his face was impassive as
ever.
"Shall I wish you many happy returns of last night, Nephew?"
"God forbid, sir!" said I, bowing aching head upon my hands.
"It is perhaps a blessing to remember, Peregrine, that one comes of
age but once in one's lifetime."
"It is, sir!" I groaned. "Pray what--what is that sound, sir--so
monotonous and--damnable?"
"It is rather an aggregation of sounds, emanating in unison from your
good friends the Marquis of Jerningham, Viscount Devenham and Mr.
Vere-Manville--they sleep remarkably soundly!"
"And--the others, sir?"
"Departed in the small hours, with your uncle George--and four of 'em
in tears!"
"It was a dreadful night, sir."
"It was a night of nights, Peregrine. I remember only one to equal
it."
"And that, sir?"
"Your father's coming of age. But talking of ghosts, Perry, I almost
fancied I saw one--no longer ago than last night--on my way here. But
then I don't believe in ghosts--and this one was seated in a closed
carriage and accompanied by a rather handsome young woman--and she was
weeping, I fancy. Your head aches, Nephew?"
"Damnably, Uncle Jervas. I hate wine!"
"Yet one must drink occasionally, boy."
"You can, sir," I groaned, "last night you honoured every toast--yet
here you sit--"
"Looking like a ghost, Nephew."
"And utterly unaffected, Uncle.
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