“Yes, it will show;—­that is exactly what people care about.  What did Sir William say?” Then during the first half of dinner a prolonged reference was made to Mr. Scarborough’s maladies, and to Sir William’s opinion concerning them.  Sir William had declared that Mr. Scarborough’s constitution was the most wonderful thing that he had ever met in his experience.  In spite of the fact that Mr. Scarborough’s body was one mass of cuts and bruises and faulty places, and that nothing would keep him going except the wearing of machinery which he was unwilling to wear, yet the facilities for much personal enjoyment were left to him, and Sir William declared that, if he would only do exactly as he were told, he might live for the next five years.  “But everybody knows that he won’t do anything that he is told,” said Augustus, in a tone of voice which by no means expressed extreme sorrow.

From his father he led the conversation to the partridges, and declared his conviction that, with a little trouble and some expense, a very good head of game might be got up at Tretton.  “I suppose it wouldn’t cost much?” said Jones, who beyond ten shillings to a game-keeper never paid sixpence for whatever shooting came in his way.

“I don’t know what you call much,” said Augustus, “but I think it may be done for three or four hundred a year.  I should like to calculate how many thousand partridges at that rate Sir William has taken back in his pocket.”

“What does it matter?” asked Miss Scarborough.

“Only as a speculation.  Of course my father, while he lives, is justified in giving his whole income to doctors if he likes it; but one gets into a manner of speaking about him as though he had done a good deal with his money in which he was not justified.”

“Don’t talk in that way, Augustus.”

“My dear aunt, I am not at all inclined to be more open-mouthed than he is.  Only reflect what it was that he was disposed to do with me, and the good-humor with which I have borne it!”

“I think I should hold my tongue about it,” said Harry Annesley.

“And I think that in my place you would do no such thing.  To your nature it would be almost impossible to hold your tongue.  Your sense of justice would be so affronted that you would feel yourself compelled to discuss the injury done to you with all your intimate friends.  But with your father your quarrel would be eternal.  I made nothing of it, and, indeed, if he pertinaciously held his tongue on the subject, so should I.”

“But because he talks,” said Harry, “why should you?”

“Why should he not?” said Septimus Jones.  “Upon my word I don’t see the justice of it.”

“I am not speaking of justice, but of feeling.”

“Upon my word I wish you would hold your tongues about it; at any rate till my back is turned,” said the old lady.