This speech, delivered in a very audible manner, was not altogether for the guidance of Mr. William Jordan, Junior, but rather for that of two young gentlemen of a similar type to Mr. Dodson himself, who at that moment were entering the buffet.
“’Ow are yer, Jimmy?” said one of these with a nod of easy familiarity.
Mr. Dodson gave a curt nod to embrace them both, and looked them down with a cold, straight glance.
“Cheek,” said Mr. Dodson, in a half-audible aside to Mr. William Jordan, Junior. “Infernal cheek!”
“Who’s Jimmy touting around with this morning?” said the first of these gentlemen to the lady in the scarlet blouse.
“A gilt mug,” said that superb creature coldly from behind her dahlia.
“Thought as much,” said the first gentleman with a quizzical look at his companion. “Between you and me and the mustard pot, Chrissie, it’s my opinion Jimmy Dodson gets a bigger snob every day.”
“Jimmy’s all right,” said the lady. “If either of you had got half his style, you’d do.”
“Yes, I suppose we should.”
Each of the young men gave a sigh that was so imperfectly repressed, that it lent poignant expression to the unattainable.