It was not so, however, with Sir Reginald. He remembered Victor Carrington's advice as to the wisdom of a palpable estrangement between himself and his cousin, and he took good care to act upon that counsel.
This course was, indeed, the only one that would have been at all agreeable to him.
He hated Douglas Dale with all the force of his evil nature, as the innocent instrument of Sir Oswald's retribution upon the destroyer of Mary Goodwin.
He envied the young man the advantages which his own bad conduct had forfeited; and he now had learned to hate him with redoubled intensity, as the man who had supplanted him in the affections of Paulina Durski.
The two men met in the smoking-room of the club at the most fashionable hour of the day.
Nothing could have been more conspicuous than the haughty insolence of the spendthrift baronet as he saluted his wealthy cousin.
"How is it I have not seen you at my chambers in the Temple, Eversleigh?" asked Douglas, in that calm tone of studied courtesy which expresses so little.
"Because I had no particular reason for calling on you; and because, if I had wished to see you, I should scarcely have expected to find you in your Temple chambers," answered Sir Reginald. "If report does not belie you, you spend the greater part of your existence at a certain villa at Fulham."
There was that in Sir Reginald Eversleigh's tone which attracted the attention of the men within hearing—almost all of whom were well acquainted with the careers of the two cousins, and many of whom knew them personally.
Though the club loungers were too well-bred to listen, it was nevertheless obvious that the attention of all had been more or less aroused by the baronet's tone and manner.