"Gad!" said the Viscount, "now you come to mention it,—so it is!"
"Positively—new!" repeated the Marquis in an awestruck voice, staring at the Viscount wide-eyed. "D'you grasp the importance of this, Devenham?—d'you see the possibilities, Dick? It will create a sensation,—it will set all the clubs by the ears, by George! We shall have the Prince galloping up from Brighton. By heaven, it's stupendous! Permit me, my dear Beverley. See—here we have three folds and a tuck, then—oh, Jupiter, it's a positive work of art, —how the deuce d'you tie it? Never saw anything approaching this, and I've tried 'em all,—the Mail-coach, the Trone d'Amour, the Osbaldistone, the Napoleon, the Irish tie, the Mathematical tie, and the Oriental,—no, 'pon my honor it's unique, it's—it's—" the Marquis sighed, shook his head, and words failing him, took out his enamelled snuff-box. "Sir," said he, "I have the very highest regard for a man of refined taste, and if there is one thing in which that manifests itself more than another, it is the cravat. Sir, I make you free of my box, pray honor me." And the Marquis flicked open his snuff-box and extended it towards Barnabas with a bow.
"My Lord," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "I appreciate the honor you do me, but pray excuse me,—I never take it."
"No?" said the Marquis with raised brows, "you astonish me; but then—between ourselves—neither do I. Can't bear the infernal stuff. Makes me sneeze most damnably. And then, it has such a cursed way of blowing about! Still, one must conform to fashion, and—"
"Captain Slingsby!"
The Gentleman-in-Powder had scarcely articulated the words, when the
Captain had gripped Barnabas by the hand.
"Congratulate you, Beverley, heartily."
"Thank you, but why?" inquired Barnabas.
"Eh—what? Hasn't Jerningham told you? B'gad, is it possible you don't know—"
"Why, dooce take me, Sling, if I didn't forget!" said the Marquis, clapping hand to thigh, "but his cravat put everything else out of my nob, and small wonder either! You tell him."