“Why, what do you know of him?”
“He owed his first seat in parliament to the votes of two near relations of mine, and when I called upon him some time ago, in his office, he absolutely ordered me out of the room. Hang his impertinence; if ever I can pay him off, I guess I sha’n’t fail for want of good will!”
“Ordered you out of the room? That’s not like Egerton, who is civil, if formal,—at least to most men. You must have offended him in his weak point.”
“A man whom the public pays so handsomely should have no weak point. What is Egerton’s?”
“Oh, he values himself on being a thorough gentleman,—a man of the nicest honour,” said Levy, with a sneer. “You must have ruffled his plumes there. How was it?”
“I forget,” answered Mr. Avenel, who was far too well versed in the London scale of human dignities since his marriage, not to look back with a blush at his desire of knighthood. “No use bothering our heads now about the plumes of an arrogant popinjay. To return to the subject we were discussing: you must be sure to let me have this money next week.”
“Rely on it.”
“And you’ll not let my bills get into the market; keep them under lock and key.”
“So we agreed.”
“It is but a temporary difficulty,—royal mourning, such nonsense; panic in trade, lest these precious ministers go out. I shall soon float over the troubled waters.”