Phineas took a vacant seat next to Mr. Monk,—who was deficient perhaps in royal instincts,—and asked him in a whisper his opinion of what had taken place. "Do not think any more of it," said Mr. Monk.
"That is so much more easily said than done. How am I not to think of it?"
"Of course I mean that you are to act as though you had forgotten it."
"Did you ever know a more gratuitous insult? Of course he was talking of that Lady Eustace."
"I had not been listening to him before, but no doubt he was. I need not tell you now what I think of Mr. Bonteen. He is not more gracious in my eyes than he is in yours. To-night I fancy he has been drinking, which has not improved him. You may be sure of this, Phineas,—that the less of resentful anger you show in such a wretched affair as took place just now, the more will be the blame attached to him and the less to you."
"Why should any blame be attached to me?"
"I don't say that any will unless you allow yourself to become loud and resentful. The thing is not worth your anger."
"I am angry."
"Then go to bed at once, and sleep it off. Come with me, and we'll walk home together."
"It isn't the proper thing, I fancy, to leave the room while the Prince is here."