"Well;—he is a clergyman. Who told you?"
"It's only my inventive genius. Well;—yes; I should say that would be nice,—travelling about Europe with a clergyman. I shouldn't get enough advantage out of it to make it pay, but I fancy it will just suit you."
"It's an expensive sort of thing;—isn't it?" asked Nidderdale.
"Well;—it does cost something. But I've got so sick of this kind of life;—and then that railway Board coming to an end, and the club smashing up, and—"
"Marie Melmotte marrying Fisker," suggested Dolly.
"That too, if you will. But I want a change, and a change I mean to have. I've seen this side of things, and now I'll have a look at the other."
"Didn't you have a row in the street with some one the other day?" This question was asked very abruptly by Lord Grasslough, who, though he was sitting near them, had not yet joined in the conversation, and who had not before addressed a word to Sir Felix. "We heard something about it, but we never got the right story." Nidderdale glanced across the table at Dolly, and Dolly whistled. Grasslough looked at the man he addressed as one does look when one expects an answer. Mr. Lupton, with whom Grasslough was dining, also sat expectant. Dolly and Nidderdale were both silent.
It was the fear of this that had kept Sir Felix away from the club. Grasslough, as he had told himself, was just the fellow to ask such a question,—ill-natured, insolent, and obtrusive. But the question demanded an answer of some kind. "Yes," said he; "a fellow attacked me in the street, coming behind me when I had a girl with me. He didn't get much the best of it though."
"Oh;—didn't he?" said Grasslough. "I think, upon the whole, you know, you're right about going abroad."
"What business is it of yours?" asked the baronet.