"An acrostic!"
A more contemptible form of mental exercise was not to be found, according to Sir William's judgement.
"An acrostic!" he made it guttural. "Well!"
"He writes word that he hears Moliere every other night. That can't harm him. His reading is principally Memoirs, which I think I have heard you call 'The backstairs of history.' We are dull here, and I should not imagine it to be a healthy place to dwell in, if the absence of friends and the presence of sunshine conspire to dullness. Algy, of course, is deep in accounts to-day?"
Sir William remarked that he had not seen the young man at the office, and had not looked for him; but the mention of Algernon brought something to his mind, and he said,—
"I hear he is continually sending messengers from the office to you during the day. You rule him with a rod of iron. Make him discontinue that practice. I hear that he despatched our old porter to you yesterday with a letter marked 'urgent.'"
Mrs. Lovell laughed pleadingly for Algernon.
"No; he shall not do it again. It occurred yesterday, and on no other occasion that I am aware of. He presumes that I am as excited as he is himself about the race—"
The lady bowed to a passing cavalier; a smarting blush dyed her face.
"He bets, does he!" said Sir William. "A young man, whose income, at the extreme limit, is two hundred pounds a year."