Hester laughed; the philosophical Mrs. Fuller frowned; and Mrs. Murch fastened upon poor Blundell, to expatiate to him in confidence on the literature of the Greeks; but even here she was not allowed to proceed far before he interrupted her with the question—
"Had the Greeks a 'Boz?'"
She turned from him with a look of withering contempt.
All this while Frank Forrester was engaged at a corner card-table, winning an ambitious young farce-writer's money at écarté; having emptied his pockets of seven pounds and a few shillings, Frank rose from the table and joined the talkers. But Cecil's jest had changed the conversation, and as it was getting late he prepared to depart.
"What! going so early?" reproachfully asked Hester.
Had Cecil been a vainer man, or one caring less for his wife, that look and tone would have been plainly significant to him; but he noticed nothing, and merely said—
"They are waiting up for me at home."
"And your wife will scold you," said she, pettishly.
"No; but worse than that—I shall reproach myself."
She gave him her hand coldly, and wished him good-night.