"Forgive me, but you are growing cynical now," said Carne, as he lit a fresh cigar.
"Haven't I good cause to be?" asked Kelmare. "Wait till you've been treated as I have, and then we'll see how you'll feel. When I think how every man you meet speaks of Kilbenham, and of the stories that are afloat concerning him, and hear the way old Greenthorpe and his pretensions are laughed at in the clubs, and sneered at in the papers, and am told that they are receiving presents of enormous value from all sorts and conditions of people, from Royalty to the poor devils of workmen he still under-pays just because Kilbenham is a marquis and she is the daughter of a millionaire, why, I can tell you it is enough to make any one cynical."
"In the main, I agree with you," said Carne. "But, as life is made up of just such contradictions, it seems to me absurd to butt your head against a stone wall, and then grumble because it hurts and you don't make any impression on it. Do you think the presents are as wonderful as they say? I want to know, because I've not given mine yet. In these days one gives as others give. If they have not received anything very good, then a pair of electro-plated entrée dishes will meet the case. If the reverse--well--diamonds, perhaps, or an old Master that the Americans are wild to buy, and can't."
"Who is cynical now, I should like to know?" said Kelmare. "I was told this morning that up to the present, with the superb diamonds given by the bride's father, they have totalled a value of something like twenty thousand pounds."
"You surprise me," answered Carne.
"I am surprised myself," said Kelmare, as he rose to go. "Now, I must be off. I came in to see if you felt inclined for a week's cruise in the Channel. Burgrave has lent me his yacht, and somehow I think a change of air will do me good."
"I am very sorry," said Carne, "but it would be quite impossible for me to get away just now. I have several important functions on hand that will keep me in town."
"I suppose this wedding is one of them?"
"To tell the honest truth, I had scarcely thought of it," replied Carne. "Must you be off? Well, then, good-bye."
When Kelmare had disappeared, Carne went back to his study, and seated himself at his writing-table. "Kelmare is a little over-sensitive," he said, "and his pique is spoiling his judgment. He does not seem to realize that he has come very well out of a jolly bad business. I am not certain which I pity most--Miss Greenthorpe, who is a heartless little hussy, or the Marquis of Kilbenham who is a thorough-paced scoundrel. The wedding, however, promises to be a fashionable one, and--"