There was that in the expression of his Lordship's face that told Twining this vein might be followed too far, and so he stopped in time, and laughed away pleasantly.
“Spicer tells me,” resumed Lord Lackington, “that Florence is quite deserted; nothing but a kind of second and third rate set of people go there. Is that so?”
“Excellent people, capital society, great fun!” said Twining, in a burst of merriment.
“Spicer calls them 'Snobs,' and he ought to know.”
“So he ought indeed, my Lord—no one better. Admirably observed, and very just.”
“He's in training again for that race that never comes off,” said his Lordship. “The first time I ever saw him—it was at Leamington—and he was performing the same farce, with hot baths and blankets, and jotting down imaginary bets in a small note-book.”
“How good—capital! Your Lordship has him perfectly—you know him thoroughly—great fun! Spicer, excellent creature!”
“How those fellows live is a great mystery to me. You chance upon them everywhere, in Baden or Aix in summer, in Paris or Vienna during the winter. Now, if they were amusing rogues, like that fellow I met at your house in Hampshire—”
“Oh, Stockley, my Lord; rare fellow, quite a genius!” laughed Twining.
“Just so—Stockley; one would have them just to help over the boredom of a country house; but this creature Spicer is as devoid of amusing gifts, as tiresome, and as worn out, as if he owned ten thousand a year.”