The next minute he had gone, and Ella felt a strange shiver pass through her; for if there had been any mistake about the pressure of the hand, there could have been none concerning the look which followed.
“Bai Jove!” ejaculated Max, as he sought a cab on his departure, “how confoundedly slow! But it’s nearly ripe at last!”
Then to make up for the slowness, Max Bray had himself driven to a highly genteel tavern in Saint James’s, where the society was decidedly fast; so that, on returning about three to his apartments, and laying his head upon his pillow, the slow and the fast society must have balanced one another; for he snored very pleasantly, no doubt feeling a better man, bai Jove!
Volume Three—Chapter Thirteen.
Rather Close.
“Bai Jove, Mrs Marter, it does a man good to see you,” said Max Bray, sauntering one afternoon into the Marter drawing-room, carefully dressed, as a matter of course, and with a choice Covent-garden exotic in his button-hole. “I declare it makes one quite disgusted with the flowers one buys, it does, bai Jove!” and then showing his white teeth, he raised her hand, touched the extreme tips of her nails with his lips, and then resigned the hand, which fell gracefully upon the side of the couch. “Bai Jove, Marter, I envy you—I do, bai Jove! You’re one of the lucky ones of this earth, only you don’t know it: feast of reason, flow of soul, and all that sort of thing’s blooming, if I may say so, upon your own premises.”
“I’m sure,” simpered Mrs Marter, “there ought to be a new official made at the palace—Court flatterer—and Mr Bray given the post.”
“Wouldn’t be amiss, if there was a good salary,” said Mr Marter, looking up from his newspaper.