But I
recognised your kindly voice, Sir Roderick. The events of the past
few hours are something of a blank to me at present: but may I take
the liberty of wringing my deliverer by the hand?"
"Certainly not," said I. "Sit up and attend. Have you a wife?
Sit up, I say. Will Mrs. Farrell by any chance be sitting up?"
"I thank God," answered Mr. Farrell fervently, "I am a widower.
It is the one bright spot. Could my poor Maria look down from where
she is, and see me at this moment--"
"It _is_ a slice of luck," I agreed. "Well, you're in the devil of a
mess, and you've goosed yourself besides losing a promising seat for
the party. What on earth--but we'll talk of that to-morrow.
You must turn up, please, and see it out. I don't know what defence,
if any, you can put up: but by to-morrow you'll have a damnatory eye
that will spoil the most ingenious. My advice is, don't make any.
Cut losses, and face the music. This is a queer country; but the
Press, which has been ragging you for weeks, will deal tenderly with
you as a drunk and incapable."
"But the scandal, Sir Roderick!" he moaned.
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