“No,” said the other, shortly. “Better for its occupants if it had. I say, Dick, if I had sisters, it would make me feel mad every time that fellow looked at them.”
“What—Landells?”
“Oh no, Felix is a good sort of fellow enough; getting spoiled, but I don’t think there’s a great deal of harm in him. I’ve taken a dislike to Van, and I’m afraid I’m rather bitter, and—look, there goes, the barouche! Quick, lend me your glass!”
“Thanks, no, Franky,” said Trevor, quietly, raising it to his eyes, and watching the carriage, which was going down a lane to their left, the owner having apparently given orders for the postboy to drive them from place to place, where they could get a view of the races, which had succeeded each other pretty quickly. “Thanks, no, I will keep it; but, for your delectation, I may mention that the ladies look very charming, the old gentleman very important; and—now they are gone.”
He replaced the glass in its case, smiled good-humouredly at his companion, and they walked on.
“Dick,” said Pratt, after a few moments’ silence, “if I were a good-looking fellow like you, I should get married.”
“And how about yourself?” said the other, smiling.
“Self? I marry? My dear old fellow, marriage is a luxury for the rich. I should be very sorry to starve a wife, and—I say, though, I’m as hungry as a hunter. Take me back to London, old fellow, and feed me, without you want to stay.”
“Stay—not I!” said Trevor; “a very little of this sort of thing goes a long way with me. But about those two fellows?”
“Let them try to exist without our company, for once in a way,” said Pratt, looking earnestly at his friend, who was busy once more with the glass; but, catching his companion’s eye, Trevor closed the binocular, and they left the course.