"What an astounding piece of news! He says you are a conceited prig, and give yourself airs."
"He never said a wiser or truer thing in his life. I am exactly that; and he is a fifth-class steeple chaserider, with a title."
"How you and he will fight!"
"So I expect. That is, if he has the courage for battle, which I rather doubt. He is terribly afraid of me."
"I think you are hard on poor Welter," said Charles; "I do, indeed. He is a generous, good-hearted fellow."
"Oh! we are all generous, good-hearted fellows," said Marston, "as long as we have plenty of money and good digestions. You are right, though, Charley. He is what you say, as far as I know; but the reason I hate him is this:—You are the dearest friend I have, and I am jealous of him. He is in eternal antagonism to me. I am always trying to lead you right, and he is equally diligent in leading you into wrong."
"Well, he sha'n't lead me into any more, I promise you now. Do be civil to him."
"Of course I will, you gaby. Did you think I was going to show fight in your house?"
When Marston came down to dinner, there was Lord Welter, sitting beside old Densil, and kindly amusing him with all sorts of gossip—stable and other.
"How do, Marston?" said he, rising and coming forward.