"True." Sir Charles' eye caught the title. "As Portia says: 'It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.' Excellent bit of binding that, too! But," with new zest, "take any interest in rare books of the ring, full of eighteenth century colored prints, and so on?"
"I can't say, at present, that the doings of the ring or the history of pugilists attract me."
"That's because you've never seen an honest, hard-fought battle, perhaps?"
"A flattering designation, I should say, of the spectacle of two brutes disfiguring their already repulsive visages!"
"Two brutes?--disfiguring?"--the drawling voice of Lord Ronsdale who had at that moment stepped in, inquired. "May I ask what the--talk is about?"
Sir Charles turned. "Steele was differing from me about a good, old, honest English sport."
"Sport?" Lord Ronsdale dropped into a chair and helped himself to whisky and soda conveniently near.
"I refer to the ring--its traditions--its chronicles--"
"Ah!" The speaker raised his glass and looked at John Steele. The latter was nonchalantly regarding the pages of a book he yet held; his face was half-turned from the nobleman. The clear-cut, bold profile, the easy, assured carriage, so suggestive of strength, seemed to attract, to compel Lord Ronsdale's attention.
"For my part," went on Sir Charles in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I am one who views with regret the decadence of a great national pastime."