“I cannot sufficiently commend either your caution or your tact, Mrs. Ricketts,” said he, bowing urbanely. “Without a little scrutiny of this kind our salons would be overrun with blacklegs and bad characters!”
It was now late, late enough for Lady Hester, and the Viscount rose to take his leave. He was perfectly satisfied with the results of his visit. He had secretly enjoyed all the absurdities of his hostess, and even stored up some of her charming flights for repetition elsewhere. He had damaged Haggerstone, whose evil-speaking he dreaded, and, by impugning his good breeding, had despoiled him of all credit. He had seen the Polish Count in a society which, even such as it was, was many degrees above his pretensions; and although they met without recognition, a masonic glance of intelligence had passed between them; and, lastly, he had made an ally of the dear Zoe herself, ready to swear to his good character, and vouch for the spotless honor of all his dealings on turf or card-table.
“Has he explained the Newmarket affair, madam?” said Haggerstone, as the door closed on the Viscount's departure.
“Perfectly, Colonel; there is not the shadow of a suspicion against him.”
“And so he was not scr-scr-scratched at the 'Whip'?” cried Purvis, emerging from his leafy retreat.
“Nothing of the kind, Scroope.”
“A scratch, but not a wound, perhaps,” said Haggerstone, with a grin of malice.
“I am ver happy please ver moosh,” said the Count, “for de sake of de order. I am republiquecain, but never forget I 'm de noble blood!”
“Beautiful sentiment!” exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts, enthusiastically. “Martha, did you hear what the Count said? General, I hope you didn't lose it?”
“I was alway for de cause of de people,” said the Count, throwing back his hair wildly, and seeming as if ready to do battle at a moment's warning.