'What the d— has he come down here for? It can't be for money, or balls, or play, and he has no honest business anywhere. Do you know?'
'Lake? Oh! I really can't tell; but he'll soon tire of country life. I don't think he's much of a sportsman.'
'Ha, isn't he? I don't know anything about him almost; but I hate him.'
'Why should you, though? He's a very gentlemanlike fellow and your cousin.'
'My cousin—the Devil's cousin—everyone's cousin. I don't know who's my cousin, or who isn't; nor you don't, who've been for ten years over those d—d papers; but I think he's the nastiest dog I ever met. I took a dislike to him at first sight long ago, and that never happened me but I was right.'
Wylder looked confoundedly angry and flustered, standing with his heels on the edge of the rug, his hands in his pockets, jingling some silver there, and glancing from under his red forehead sternly and unsteadily across the room.
'He's not a man for country quarters! he'll soon be back in town, or to
Brighton,' I said.
'If he doesn't, I will. That's all.'
Just to get him off this unpleasant groove with a little jolt, I said—
'By-the-bye, Wylder, you know the pictures here; who is the tall man, with the long pale face, and wild phosphoric eyes? I was always afraid of him; in a long peruke, and dark red velvet coat, facing the hall-door. I had a horrid dream about him last night.'