“What’s Tommy Myles so hot against you for?”
“Oh, those girls have got hold of him—Maud, and Isabel Bourne.”
“Isabel Bourne?”
“Yes,” said George, meeting Mr. Blodwell’s questioning eye. “Tommy has a mind to try his luck there, I think.”
“Vice you retired.”
“Well, retired or turned out. It’s like the army, you know; the two come to pretty much the same thing.”
“You must console yourself, my boy,” said Mr. Blodwell, slyly. He heard of most things, and he had heard of Mrs. Pocklington’s last dinner-party.
“Oh, I’m an outcast now. No one would look at me.”
“Don’t be a humbug, George. Go and see Mrs. Pocklington, and, for heaven’s sake let me get to my work.”
It was Mr. Blodwell’s practice to inveigle people into long gossips, and then abuse them for wasting his time; so George was not disquieted by the reproach. But he took the advice, and called in Grosvenor Square. He found Mrs. Pocklington in, but she was not alone. Her visitor was a very famous person, hitherto known to George only by repute,—the Marquis of Mapledurham.