Nelly turned her large eyes, open to the widest, upon him, as he spoke, with an expression so palpably that of rebuke for his freedom, that he replied to her stare by saying,—
“Of course I am very free and easy. More than that, I 'm downright rude. That's what you mean—a vulgar dog! but don't you see that's what diminished fortune must bring you to? You 'll have to live with vulgar dogs. It's not only coarse cookery, but coarse company a man comes to. Ay, and there are people will tell you that both are useful—as alteratives, as the doctors call them.”
It was a happy accident that made him lengthen out the third syllable of the word, which amused Nelly so much that she laughed outright
“Can you tell us where is Cattaro, Mr. Cutbill?” asked Bramleigh, eager that the other should not notice his sister's laughter.
“I haven't the faintest notion; but Bollard, the messenger, is eating his luncheon at the station. I 'll run down and ask him.” And without waiting for a reply, he seized his hat and hurried away.
“One must own he is good-natured,” said Nelly, “but he does make us pay somewhat smartly for it. His wholesome truths are occasionally hard to swallow.”
“As he told us, Nelly, we must accept these things as part of our changed condition. Poverty would n't be such a hard thing to bear if it only meant common food and coarse clothing; but it implies scores of things that are far less endurable.”
While they thus talked, Cutbill had hurried down to the station, and just caught the messenger as he was taking his seat in the train. Two others—one bound for Russia and one for Greece—were already seated in the compartment, smoking their cigars with an air of quiet indolence, like men making a trip by a river steamer.
“I say, Bollard,” cried Cutbill, “where is Cattaro?”
“Don't know; is he a tenor?”