"No," said Bertie Fairfax, with an unusual bitterness. "We can never marry, Les. You, because you are too——"
"Selfish," interrupted Mr. Dodson, placidly.
"And I, because I am too poor——"
"You will be rich enough some day, you clever dog," said Mr. Dodson, sententiously.
"Yes, when I'm an old man, gray-headed and bent double. Never mind."
"I won't. Don't you, either," said Leicester; "and now for the Cedars. Suppose we say the end of the week?"
"Yes, that will do," said Bertie. "The Lacklands—at least, some of them—are going down to Coombe Lodge next week."
"Oh," said Leicester, significantly, glancing at the frank, pleasant face of his friend.
"Yes," retorted Bertie, "and the Mildmays are still at the Park, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Leicester, shrugging his shoulders with an air of indifference he was far from feeling. "So that we shall be all together—like moths round a candle," he added, cynically, as Bertie rose, with a yawn, to mount to his own chambers.