George gave a chuckle.
“What do you say to that, my dear fellow? Cool, eh?”
George turned over a page of Horse and Hound with a preternatural appearance of gravity. Apparently he was not at all conscious that Cheriton was scrutinizing him narrowly.
“What do you say to it?”
“Well,” said George, slowly and heavily, “I should say you were asking for it.”
It must be confessed that Cheriton was baffled. For, both in the manner and in the matter of the rejoinder, no portion of George’s feelings was visible.
“Asking for it!” said Cheriton, with virtuous indignation. “Upon my word, George, I expected better things of you! To say the least, it is a poor encouragement to a good heart.”
“Well, you know, Cheriton,” said George, with a genial grunt and addressing himself to Horse and Hound in earnest, “you might do worse. Ginger-haired gal is not bad-lookin’!”
There was nothing more to be got out of George. Not only did Tattersall’s sale list prove of absorbing interest, but fellow-members began to encroach upon the privacy of the bow window. Among these was the bullet-headed marquis from Yorkshire.
“Give you a good sermon, Kendal?” said Cheriton, nodding affably.