"Oh, Farquhar!" he said. "Yes, he is stone-broke; but I don't know that Fin—I mean Finetta—has had so much to do with it. Charlie was under the delusion that he understood horses, and——."
"I see," said the duke. "Poor lad! I suppose if I offered to help him he would be quite offended?"
"I don't know. You might try," said Yorke, dryly.
"I'll see. But about this same Finetta. She was pretty——."
Yorke Auchester looked up with a laugh. It was not a particularly merry one.
"Only pretty?"
"Well, yes, to my eyes; but I'm rather particular and hard to please, I'll admit. Oh, yes, she was pretty, and she danced," he smiled, "yes, she danced without doubt. The young men in the stalls seemed infatuated; but I didn't fall down and worship with the rest. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, though I'm not much more than your age. Anyhow, a very little of Mlle. Finetta goes a long way with me. Do you know her, Yorke?"
"Oh, everybody knows Finetta," replied Yorke Auchester, carelessly—a little too carelessly.
"And some, it seems, like poor Charlie Farquhar, know her not wisely but too well. Well, I've not been to the theater since, and that's six weeks ago. Is that chop tender?"
"First rate; try it."