"I beg ten thousand pardons," exclaimed the Major. "I did not intend to intrude."
"I think we had done," said the Duke. "Pray sit down, Major Tifto." The Major sat down. "Though now I bethink myself, I have to beg your pardon;—that I a stranger should ask you to sit down in your own club."
"Don't mention it, my Lord Duke."
"I am so unused to clubs, that I forgot where I was."
"Quite so, my Lord Duke. I hope you think that Silverbridge is looking well?"
"Yes;—yes. I think so."
Silverbridge bit his lips and turned his face away to the door.
"We didn't make a very good thing of our Derby nag the other day. Perhaps your Grace has heard all that?"
"I did hear that the horse in which you are both interested had failed to win the race."
"Yes, he did. The Prime Minister, we call him, your Grace,—out of compliment to a certain Ministry which I wish it was going on to-day instead of the seedy lot we've got in. I think, my Lord Duke, that any one you may ask will tell you that I know what running is. Well;—I can assure you,—your Grace, that is,—that since I've seen 'orses I've never seen a 'orse fitter than him. When he got his canter that morning, it was nearly even betting. Not that I or Silverbridge were fools enough to put on anything at that rate. But I never saw a 'orse so bad ridden. I don't mean to say anything, my Lord Duke, against the man. But if that fellow hadn't been squared, or else wasn't drunk, or else wasn't off his head, that 'orse must have won,—my Lord Duke."