"Don't mind me, Mr. Wainwright," said Billy, politely; "pray let the gentleman go on. I am not the Stannaries Stag, sir, and I never laid claim to the title; consequently it's no degradation to me to avow that I can't keep on heeling and toeing it at the rate of seven miles an hour for long. As it happens, I have a friend in the neighbourhood, a fisherman, who has managed to combine a snack-bend with a Kirby hook in a manner which he assures me--pardon me, dear sirs, those imbecile grins remind me that I am speaking to men who don't know a stone-fly from a gentle; that I have been throwing my--I needn't finish the sentence. I have finished the drink. Mr. Wainwright, have the goodness to see me off the premises, and, in the words of the distraught Ophelia--to whom, by-the-way, I daresay your talented father would have been called in, had he happened to live in Denmark at the time--'let out the maid who'--goodnight!"
When George Wainwright returned, alone, he found Paul, who had lighted a cigar, walking up and down the room, his hands plunged in his pockets, his chin down upon his chest. George went up to him, and putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said:
"What brought you down here to-night, young 'un? The last rats must have deserted the sinking ship of Fashion and Season when you clear out of it to come down to Diogenes in his tub. Not but that I'm delighted to see you; all I want to know is why?"
"I was nervous and restless, George; a little tired of fools and frippery, and--and myself. I wanted you to blow a little of the ozone of common sense into me, you know!"
"Oh yes, I know," said George Wainwright; but he uttered the words in such deep solemn tones that Paul turned upon him suddenly, saying:
"You know? Well, what do you know?"
"I know why you could not play tennis, or come to the Oval, or walk to Hendon with me yesterday afternoon."
"The deuce you do! And why?"
"For a very sufficient reason to a young fellow of five-and-twenty!" said George, with a rather melancholy grin. "Look here, Paul; I don't think you'll imagine I'm a spy, or a meddling, impertinent busybody, and I'm sure you'll believe it was by the merest accident that I was crossing Kensington Gardens last evening, and there saw a friend of mine in deep conversation with a very handsome young lady."
"The deuce you did!" cried Paul, turning very red. "What then?"