She muttered "very glad" to herself as she sat down in a chair just left by a dowager, and tried to cheat herself into the belief that she really was glad. In truth, she was at that moment more indignant than unhappy. The coldness of her reception, both by mother and son, had exasperated her. Had he looked pleased to see her, had he even looked very pained, she would have at once given him to understand that his retreat had been precipitate, and that she was ready to accept him with delight. But his coldness piqued her; she refrained from addressing a word to him; and was now indulging in somewhat bitter reflections on his conduct.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Vyner had been eloquent in her admiration of Cecil and his genius, to Lady F——, with whom she was talking. Maxwell, from time to time, threw in a sarcasm, and was evidently uneasy at hearing any one praised so highly.
"Well, but you know, my dear sir," said Lady F——, "he must be monstrous clever, or he would never make so much money."
Maxwell shrugged his shoulders, and said, with considerable significance in the tone,—
"That depends upon how he makes it."
Mrs. Vyner looked at him surprised. A little while afterwards, when they were standing retired apart from the company, she asked him what he meant by his reply to Lady F——, respecting Cecil's money-making.
"I mean this: he doesn't make money by his genius," Maxwell replied, with sneering emphasis.
"By what, then?"
Maxwell refused at first to answer.
"What can you be hinting at? By what means does he make his money?"