“What! Is he the villain?”
“I’ve watched them exchange glances.”
“Why, so have I, and so have hundreds.”
“You own it?”
“With perfect equanimity. Such frank barter of the eyes is your surest proof of innocence. Give me your stolen look for mischief.”
“You think he means none, then?”
Hamilton laughed, and clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“O, Phil!” said he, “thou art surely possessed. The Duke hath other fish to fry; his net is full. Believe me, on my sincerity” (and he meant it), “your jealousy corrupts your judgment. And more—it dishonours your wife. Come, tell me—how goes it with the little country skit, Kate’s friend?”
Chesterfield, but half convinced, shook his head and growled.
“She wearies me. A tasteless business.”