"I have not the pleasure to be acquainted with you, sir; but if you
can supply me with any reason for this display of temper, believe
me--"
"My name is Goodwyn-Sandys, sir, at your--"
"What!"
Mr. Fogo dropped the cocked hat and sat down suddenly among the
cakes.
"Are you," he gasped--"are you Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys--the Honourable
Frederic Augustus Hythe Good--? Heavens!"
"No, sir," said the Honourable Frederic, who had grown a thought
pale. "Good _wyn_, sir--Goodwyn-Sandys. What then?"
"I never saw your face before," murmured Mr. Fogo faintly.
"That, sir, if a misfortune, is one which you share with a number of
your fellow-men. And permit me to tell you, sir," continued Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys, with unaccountable change of mood, "that I consider
your treatment of my friend Admiral Buzza unworthy of a gentleman,
sir--unworthy of a gentleman. Come, Doctor; come, Pellow--I want a
word or two more with you about this Club."
And Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys ruffled away, followed by his two slightly
puzzled companions.
For the space of two minutes Mr. Fogo gazed up the road after them.
Then he sighed, took off his spectacles, and wiped them carefully.
"So _that_," he said slowly, "is the man she married."
"Iss, sir."
Mr. Fogo started, turned round on the barrow, and beheld the urchin
from the "Man-o'-War.
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