"Polly! you _are_ a Tory. Everybody else's hell has moved--but yours!
Thank you, mother," as Lady Tranmore gave him tea. Then, stretching out
his great frame in lazy satisfaction, he turned his brown eyes from one
lady to the other. "I say, mother, I haven't seen anything as
good-looking as you--or Polly there, if she'll forgive me--for weeks."

"Hold your tongue, goose," said his mother, as she replenished the
teapot. "What--there were no pretty girls--not one?"

"Well, they didn't come my way," said William, contentedly munching at
bread-and-butter. "I have gone through all the usual humbug--and
perjured my soul in all the usual ways--without any consolation worth
speaking of."

"Don't talk nonsense, sir," said Lady Tranmore. "You know you like
speaking--and you like compliments--and you've had plenty of both."

"You didn't read me, mother!"

"Didn't I?" she said, smiling. He groaned, and took another piece of
tea-cake.

"My own family at least, don't you think, might omit that?"

"H'm, sir--So you didn't believe a word of your own speeches?" said Lady
Tranmore, as she stood behind him and smoothed his hair back from his
forehead.

"Well, who does?" He looked up gayly and kissed the tips of her fingers.