But not of that concentrated kind—in a company reputed above all others for its good breeding.
He was himself too well-bred to be taken aback. Besides, he saw before him faces that appeared friendly; while the eyes of the discriminating dowagers, seen through their pebbles, instead of quizzing, seemed to regard him with admiration!
Though not disconcerted, he could not help feeling surprised. Many of those present he had met before; had hunted, shot, and even dined with them. Why should they be now receiving him with an interest not hitherto exhibited?
The explanation was given by his host, who, approaching in a friendly manner, pronounced the words:
“Captain Maynard, we congratulate you!”
“On what, Sir George?” inquired the astonished guest.
“Your literary success. We had already heard, sir, of your skill in wielding the sword. We were not aware that you were equally skilful with another and like honourable weapon—the pen.”
“You are very complimentary; but I do not quite comprehend you.”
“You will, by glancing at this. I presume, sir, you have not yet seen it—since it has just come down by the last post?”
As Sir George spoke, he held up a broadsheet, whose title proclaimed it the fashionable morning journal of London.