"Pray, what is it?"
"Oh! something impossible, grotesque, inconceivable, but true; at least, he swears to it," said Cecil.
"Let's hear it," said Mrs. Langley Turner.
"By all means," added Mrs. Broughton.
"By all means," echoed Julius. "I find myself the hero of a romance before I was aware of it."
All eyes were turned upon Tom Wincot.
He was not averse to be looked at, so neither blushed, nor let fall the glass suspended to his eye.
Wincot is young, good-looking, well-dressed; rides well, waltzes well; gains his livelihood at whist and écarté; pays debts of honour; has no ideas; knows nothing beyond the sphere of a club or a drawing-room, and has no power over the consonant r.
"I consider this vewy twaitewous," he said; "when I told Chamberlayne the stowy it was under strict secrecy."
"That is to say," rejoined Cecil, "that you wished me particularly to divulge it."