“Why, you Crœsus, you know it is true,” said Mr. Hammerton. “He will soon be as rich as my dear brother is reputed to be, Miss Tallant; he literally coins money does my friend Arthur; but what is better—and if he were not here, I should be tempted to say more—he paints for the love of his art, and he is as noble a fellow as ever sat before an easel. There!”
The young nobleman seemed bent upon exalting the moral and pecuniary worth of Mr. Phillips. He might have had an object to serve in placing his friend’s merits and advantages before Mr. Tallant and his sister, and he laid particular emphasis on “my friend Phillips,” or “my friend Arthur,” and spoke of him with the familiarity of pure regard and esteem.
“By-the-by,” said Mr. Hammerton after a pause, “let me explain my unexpected visit to Mr. Tallant. Don’t go away, I beg, Miss Tallant.”
“I will return again before you leave, thank you,” said the lady in her sweetest accents.
“I heard you were here, sir,” said Mr. Hammerton, resuming an aristocratic dignity of manner, which he assumed with those who were not his intimates (he had not met Mr. Tallant junior frequently), “and thinking you might deem it necessary to give me a call, I preferred to anticipate you.”
Mr. Tallant bowed, and twirled his moustache carelessly.
“Allow me to present you with a little token of our last meeting,” Mr. Hammerton continued, handing Mr. Tallant a sealed envelope.
“Thanks; you are very good,” said the Iron Prince, dropping the note into the side pocket of his loose morning coat.
“Will you not look at it, and see that it is quite right?”
“No, thank you; I have no fear about that. Shall I offer you a cigar? The ladies will allow us to smoke on the lawn just outside the window.”