“Ah, you sly dog! You were too much taken up with Lady Boadicea! She is considered a beauty—at least her picture made rather a stir. What do you think? How does she strike you?”
“To me—she looks like a wax doll that has been held too close to the fire—and she is about as animated.”
“Well, you can’t say that of the American girl, Miss Clapper—there’s a complexion!—there’s animation!—there’s a stunner for you!”
“A stunner, indeed! She thrust her money down my throat in such enormous quantities that I could scarcely swallow anything else!”
“Then why the deuce did you not stuff some of mine down hers, hey?” chuckling. “I saw you at Hurlingham this afternoon.”
“Did you, sir? I had no idea you were there.”
“It was a frightful squash—hardly a chair to be had; the Royalties, a fine day and a popular match, brought ’em. I suppose that was the new pony you were trying, brown with white legs. How do you like him?”
“He is not handy, and he is a bit slow. He is not in the same class with Pipe-clay, or the chestnut Arab; I don’t think we will buy him, sir.”
“Lord Greenleg was very anxious to hear what I thought of him. He only wants a hundred and thirty—asked me to give him an answer there and then, as he had another customer, but I thought I had better wait till I heard your opinion. Is the pony worth one hundred and thirty guineas? What do you say?”
“I say, cut off the first figure, and that is about his value,” rejoined his nephew shortly.