‘They shall be called so if you like,’ said the Major.  ’And why didn’t you come?’

‘It always was such a grind.’

‘Train down from Paddington every day at 10.30.’

’That’s all very well if you happen to be up.  Well, Silverbridge, how’s the Prime Minister?’

‘How is he, Tifto?’ asked the noble partner.

’I don’t think there’s a man in England just at present enjoying a very much better state of health,’ said the Major pleasantly.

‘Safe to run?’ asked Dolly.

‘Safe to run!  Why shouldn’t he be safe to run?’

‘I means sure to start.’

‘I think we mean him to start, don’t we, Silverbridge?’ said the Major.

There was something perhaps in the tone in which the last remark was made which jarred a little against the young lord’s dignity.  At any rate he got up and declared his purpose of going to the opera.  He should look in, he said, and hear a song from Mademoiselle Stuffa.  Mademoiselle Stuffa was the nightingale of the season, and Lord Silverbridge, when he had nothing else to do, would sometimes think that he was fond of music.  Soon after he was gone Major Tifto had some whisky-and-water, lit his third cigar, and began to feel the glory of belonging to the Beargarden.  With Lord Silverbridge, to whom it was essentially necessary that he should make himself agreeable at all times, he was somewhat overweighted as it were.  Though he attempted an easy familiarity, he was a little afraid of Lord Silverbridge.  With Dolly Longstaff he felt that he might be comfortable,—­not, perhaps, understanding that gentleman’s character.  With Lord Nidderdale he had previously been acquainted, and had found him to be good-natured.  So he sipped his whisky, he became confidential and comfortable.

‘I never thought so much about her good looks,’ he said.  They were talking of the singer, the charm of whose voice had carried Lord Silverbridge away.

‘Did you ever see her off the stage?’ asked Nidderdale.

‘Oh dear yes.’

‘She does not go about very much, I fancy,’ said someone.

‘I dare say not,’ said Tifto.  ’But she and I have had a day or two together, for all that.’

‘You must have been very much favoured,’ said Dolly.

‘We’ve been pals ever since she has been over here,’ said Tifto, with an enormous lie.

‘How do you get on with her husband?’ asked Dolly,—­in the simplest voice, as though not in the least surprised at his companion’s statement.

‘Husband!’ exclaimed the Major; who was not possessed of sufficient presence of mind to suppress all signs of ignorance.

‘Ah,’ said Dolly; ’you are not probably aware that your pal has been married to Mr Thomas Jones for the last year and a half.’  Soon after that Major Tifto left the club,—­with considerable enhanced respect for Mr Longstaff.

CHAPTER 7