‘What—do you tell me that you write for the papers?’ asked my lord slyly.
‘He’s quizzing, sir; he knows right well I have no gifts of that sort.’
‘Here’s dinner, papa. Will you give Nina your arm? Mr. Atlee, you are to take me.’
‘You’ll not agree with me, Nina, my dear,’ said the old man, as he led her along; ‘but I’m heartily glad we have not that great swell who dined with us yesterday.’
‘I do agree with you, uncle—I dislike him.’
‘Perhaps I am unjust to him; but I thought he treated us all with a sort of bland pity that I found very offensive.’
‘Yes; I thought that too. His manner seemed to say, “I am very sorry for you, but what can be done?”’
‘Is the other fellow—the wounded one—as bad?’
She pursed up her lip, slightly shrugged her shoulders, and then said, ‘There’s not a great deal to choose between them; but I think I like him better.’
‘How do you like Dick, eh?’ said he, in a whisper.