"Of course not; when a fellow can't keep pace with his peers, away with him, crucify him."
"As long as a few special friends are true——"
"If they are," interrupted De Burgh; and Katherine did not resume, hoping he would continue the theme, which he did, saying: "He has left his big house, gone into chambers somewhere, and has I believe, taken up literature, politics, and social subjects. So Lady Mary Vincent says. I fancy he is a clever fellow in a cast-iron style."
"What a change for him!"
"I believe there was something coming to him out of the wreck, and I think he is a sort of man who will float. I never liked him myself, chiefly, I fancy, because I know he doesn't like me. Indeed, I don't care for people in general." There was a pause, during which Katherine glanced at her companion, and was struck by his sombre expression, the stern compression of his lips.
"Did you call at the cottage?" she asked.
"No; you were out this morning, and I did not like to intrude again," he laughed. "Growing modest in my sere and yellow days, you see; so I thought I should perhaps find you here, as I saw your numerous party drive past the hotel."
"I like this corner, and often come here. But, Mr. De Burgh, you look as if the times were out of joint."
"So they are"—suddenly seating himself on a flat stone nearly at Katherine's feet, leaning his elbow on another, and resting his head on his hand, so as to look up easily in her face.
"What gloomy dark eyes he has!" she thought.