"Well, and what then?" said Lord Fitz. "And I don't wonder at any one being taken up with Bert. He knows more stories than any man in all the clubs in London, and he can tell 'em better, too. Pity he's so poor, Ethel. Poor old Bert!"
Lady Ethel looked straight before her.
"He ought to have been a merchant or a tea grocer, or something of that sort," said Lord Fitz. "That's the way to make money."
By this time, or very shortly afterward, the carriage rolled up to the door of Coombe Lodge.
Ethel, who had not spoken since Lord Fitz's assertion that Bertie should have been a tea grocer, went straight up to Lady Lackland's room, where her mother was waiting for her.
Lord Fitz sauntered off to the billiard room, where he lighted a huge cigar and, with half-closed eyes, tried to decide upon the color of Violet's.
"I'm glad she's rich," he muttered, "very glad!"
Lady Lackland had been prevented from accompanying Fitz and Ethel by one of a series of headaches produced by the last balls of the past season, and she was now quite anxious to hear a full account of the party.
Ethel gave her a list of the guests.
Lady Lackland, who was lying on a couch, raised her head with a grave look of displeasure as Ethel mentioned Bertie Fairfax's name.