"I should like to see her," suggested Carrington persuasively.
"Next time you come down you shall. I shall ask her father and Dorinda to dinner at the Big House."
"Who is her father?"
"A second or third cousin of mine."
"What is his name?"
"Mallien--Julius Mallien."
"I am little the wiser," said the barrister ironically, "and I don't want to exercise my profession of cross-examining people in the country. Can't you give me details?"
"I am," said the other, slightly surprised. "I am giving you details."
"Yes, when I ask you incessant questions. But make some sort of a speech. I want to know what kind of a person Mallien is; I want a description of the lady; I desire to learn what the father does, and if he will give his daughter a dowry. In fact, I wish to know all about it, as naturally I take the greatest interest in the welfare of my old school chum."
"Good old man," said Rupert, giving Carrington's arm so affectionate a squeeze that the barrister winced with the pain. "Well, Mallien's a beast, like Timon of Athens--you remember the play we read at school. I don't like Mallien, as he's always grousing at everyone and everything."