George received him with cold civility, and asked him what sport he had, to which he was forced to reply—none.
“Did you see anybody there?”
“Yes, I met Miss Caresfoot.”
“Ah! trust a girl to trail out a man. What is she like? I remember her a raw-boned girl of fourteen with fine eyes.”
“I think that she is the handsomest woman I ever saw,” Arthur replied, coldly.
“Ah!” said George, with a rude little laugh, “youth is always enthusiastic, especially when the object is of the dairymaid cut.”
There was something so intensely insolent in his host’s way of talking that Arthur longed to throw a dish at him, but he restrained his feelings, and dropped the subject.
“Let me see, you are only just home from India, are you?” asked George, presently.
“I got back at the beginning of last month.”
“And what were you doing there?”