"I think the adornment rested with you and Luttrell," he says, with cutting sarcasm, answering Sir Penthony.
"Potts, you aren't half a one. Tell us another. Your splendid resources can't be yet exhausted," says Philip.
"Yes, do, Potts, and wake me when you come to the point," seconds Sir Penthony, warmly, sinking into an arm-chair and gracefully disposing an antimacassar over his head.
"A capital idea," murmurs Luttrell. "It will give us all a hint when we are expected to laugh."
"Oh, you can chaff as you like," exclaims Mr. Potts, much aggrieved; "but I wonder, if I went to sleep in an arm-chair, which of you would carry on the conversation?"
"Not one of them," declares Cecil, with conviction: "we should all die of mere inanition were it not for you."
"I really think they're all jealous of me," goes on Plantagenet, greatly fortified. "I consider myself by far the most interesting of them all, and the most—er——"
"Say it, Potts; don't be shy," says Sir Penthony, raising a corner of the antimacassar, so as to give his friends the full encouragement of one whole eye. "'Fascinating,' I feel sure, will be the right word in the right place here."
"It would indeed. I know nobody so really entertaining as Plantagenet," says Cecil, warmly.
"Your ladyship's judgment is always sound. I submit to it," returns Sir Penthony, rising to make her a profound bow.