The gentleman with the whiskers stooped across the table.
"Oh, nothing lasts in this world. But that of course is what makes a good time so good."
Doris turned towards him—demurring—for the sake of conversation. "I never could understand how Cinderella enjoyed the ball."
"For thinking of the clock?" laughed Sir Luke. "No, no!—you can't mean that. It's the expectation of the clock that doubles the pleasure. Of course you agree, Rachel!"—he turned to her—"else why did you read me that very doleful poem yesterday, on this very theme?—that it's only the certainty of death that makes life agreeable? By the way, George Eliot had said it before!"
"The poem was by a friend of mine," said Lady Dunstable, coldly. "I read it to you to see how it sounded. But I thought it poor stuff."
"How unkind of you! The man who wrote it says he lives upon your friendship."
"That, perhaps, is why he's so thin."
Sir Luke laughed again.
"To be sure, I saw the poor man—after you had talked to him the other night—going to Dunstable to be consoled. Poor George! he's always healing the wounds you make."
"Of course. That's why I married him. George says all the civil things.
That sets me free to do the rude ones."