Frank sighed as he thus finished his tale, but quickly changing the subject, he said,—
"Come, let's take a turn, and look in at the club."
"No, Frank, I must work."
"Nonsense! What's the use of puddling all day over your work—you only stupify yourself. Come."
"There's some truth in what you say, I believe; the brain gets muddled by long application. Yet my picture isn't half finished yet—half!—not a quarter."
"Never mind; leave it for to-day. Damn my whiskers! I must have you to-day."
Cecil's irresolution was soon conquered; he took his hat, and went out with his chum. They strolled down to the club, where Cecil had not shown himself since his marriage. The heartiness of his welcome greatly flattered him; he felt that he was a favourite; success cheered him; his spirits rose; he became unusually brilliant.
"You must dine with us to-day, Cis," said Frank.
"Impossible, my dear fellow."
"Don't know the word, Cis. I have said you dine with us—four—jolly party; and you dine: damn my whiskers!"