"Anan?" said Verty, smiling, as he tossed Ralph the note.
"Don't mind me," said Ralph; "I was just talking, as usual, at random, and slandering the sex. But what are you sitting there for, my dear Verty? Get down and come in. I'm dying of weariness."
Verty shook his head.
"I must go and see Mr. Roundjacket," he said.
"What! is he sick?"
"Yes."
"Much?"
Verty smiled.
"I think not," he said; "but I don't know—I havn't much time; good-bye."
And touching Cloud with the spur, Verty went on. Ralph looked after him for a moment, twirled the note in his fingers, read the superscription,—"To Miss Fanny Temple,"—and then, laughing carelessly, lounged into the house, intent on making a third in the councils of those great captains, Mr. Jinks and the landlord.