“You didn’t see the daughter, did you?”
“Oh, of course it’s the daughter! No.”
“Did you ever know a man named Witt?”
“Never; but, Mr. Neston, I have heard of a Mrs. Witt. Now, Blodwell, either out with it, or shut up and let’s talk of something else.”
“The latter, please,” said Mr. Blodwell, urbanely.
And the Marquis, who had out-grown the vanity of desiring to know everything, made no effort to recur to the subject. Only, as George took his leave, he received a piece of advice, together with a cordial invitation to come again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Neston,” said the Marquis. “I fancy I have given you some involuntary assistance to-night.”
“I hope so. I shall know in a day or two.”
“To like to be right, Mr. Neston, is the last weakness of a wise man; to like to be thought right is the inveterate prejudice of fools.”