"
The Colonel, who had been listening with a queer expression of wonder and
doubt on his face, here interrupted Mr. Barnes. "It was Clive that--that
spilled the wine over you last night," Thomas Newcome said; "the young
rascal had drunk a great deal too much wine, and had neither the use of
his head nor his hands, and this morning I have given him a lecture, and
he has come to ask your pardon for his clumsiness; and if you have
forgotten your share in the night's transaction, I hope you have
forgotten his, and will accept his hand and his apology."
"Apology: There's no apology," cries Barnes, holding out a couple of
fingers of his hand, but looking towards the Colonel. "I don't know what
happened any more than the dead. Did we have a row? Were there any
glasses broken? The best way in such cases is to sweep 'em up. We can't
mend them."
The Colonel said gravely--"that he was thankful to find that the
disturbance of the night before had no worse result." He pulled the tail
of Clive's coat, when that unlucky young blunderer was about to trouble
his cousin with indiscreet questions or explanations, and checked his
talk.
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