Austin Ambrose sipped his wine.
"Hem!" he said, slowly. "I don't think I should do that, if I were in your place, Blair."
Lord Blair stopped.
"You wouldn't—why not?"
Austin Ambrose was silent for a moment, then he set down his glass and leant back in his chair, but still looked just over Blair's head, instead of into his eyes.
"Look here, Blair," he said; "I don't know that I have any right to intrude my advice, or even my opinion, upon you, but I am, as you know, your friend."
"I should think so!" exclaimed Lord Blair.
"Yes, I am your friend! I owe you my life! Ever since you picked me out of the Thames that August morning——"
"Oh, nonsense!" broke in Blair. "Any fellow would have done the same! You'd have picked me out if I'd had the cramp, and was going down instead of you."
"Well, we won't talk of it then," said Austin Ambrose; "but, of course, I don't forget it. When I look in the glass in the morning, I say to the not particularly handsome gentleman who regards me, 'My friend, but for Lord Blair's strong arm and good wind, you would not be outside the world's crust this morning.' Of course, I can't forget it, and as I owe you my life, I will continue to be a nuisance to you by offering my advice, and that is, 'Don't go to the earl and tell him you are going to make his housekeeper's granddaughter his future niece and the Countess of Ferrers!'"