“Nonsense. Have a B. and S.”
“With you? No, sir; I have done. Good-day.”
“Good-bye, Tom, for I’m going off shortly.”
“And pray where?”
“Italy, I think,” said Melton, smiling.
“Won’t you stop and see Wilters married?”
“No; I will not. Have a B. and S., old fellow.”
Little Tom looked his friend over from top to toe, and then, with an ejaculation full of contempt, he stalked out of the club, and went straight to Portland Place, where the first person he met was Tryphie alone in the drawing-room.
“Well,” she cried, “have you seen Mr Melton?”
“Yes.”