“So that to dine with us was disagreeable to Lord Culduff?” asked Jack.
“It was evidently either an effort to task his strength, or an occasion which called for more exertion than he felt equal to,” said Temple, pompously.
“By Jove!” cried Jack, “I hope I 'll never be a great man! I trust sincerely I may never arrive at that eminence in which it will task my energies to eat my dinner and chat with the people on either side of me.”
“Lord Culduff converses: he does not chat; please to note the distinction, Jack.”
“That 's like telling me he does n't walk, but he swaggers.”
It was fortunate at this moment, critical enough as regarded the temper of all parties, that Mr. Cutbill entered, full of apologies for being late, and bursting to recount the accidents that befell him, and all the incidents of his day. A quick glance around the table assured him of Lord Culduff's absence, and it was evident from the sparkle of his eye that the event was not disagreeable to him.
“Is our noble friend on the sick list?” asked he, with a smile.
“Indisposed,” said Temple, with the air of one who knew the value of a word that was double-shotted.
“I 've got news that will soon rally him,” continued Cut-bill. “They've struck a magnificent vein this morning, and within eighty yards of the surface. Plmmys, the Welsh inspector, pronounced it good Cardiff, and says, from the depth of 'the lode,' that it must go a long way.”
“Harding did not give me as encouraging news yesterday,” said Colonel Bramleigh, with a dubious smile.