“Very few as wealthy, I should say, Dunn,—very few, indeed. Let me only know your wishes. I feel certain how they will be treated.”
“I am aware,” said Dunn, with some energy, “that you incur the risk of some attack in anything you would do for me. I am necessarily in scant favor with a large party here. They would assail you, they would vilify me; but that would pass over. A few weeks—a few months at furthest—”
“To be sure,—perfectly correct It would be mere momentary clamor. Sir Davenport Dunn, Baronet, would survive—”
“I beg pardon,” said Dunn, in a voice tremulous with emotion. “I don't think I heard you aright; I trust, at least, I did not.”
The Secretary looked quickly in his face, and saw it pale, the lips slightly quivering, and the brow contracted.
“I was saying,” said he, in a voice broken and uncertain, “that I 'm sure the Premier would not refuse to recommend you to her Majesty for a baronetcy.”
“May I make so bold as to ask if you have already held any conversation with the Minister on this subject?”
“None, whatever. I assure you, most solemnly, that I have no instructions on the subject, nor have I ever had any conversation with him on the matter.”
“Then let me beg you to forget what has just passed between us. It is, after all, mere chit-chat. That's a Susterman's, that portrait you are looking at,” said he, eager to change the topic. “It is said to be a likeness of Bianca Capello.”
“A very charming picture, indeed; purchased, I suppose, in your last visit abroad.”