“Spare my friend, and Mr. Leslie's near connection,” said he, with a polite but grave smile.
“Oh,” said Avenel, “public men, whom we pay, are public property—aren't they, my lord?” appealing to Spendquick.
“Certainly,” said Spendquick, with great spirit—“public property, or why should we pay them? There must be a very strong motive to induce us to do that! I hate paying people. In fact,” he subjoined, in an aside, “I never do!”
“However,” resumed Mr. Avenel. graciously, “I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Leslie. As to the feelings of our host, the Baron, I calculate that they have got tolerably tough by the exercise they have gone through.”
“Nevertheless,” said the Baron, joining in the laugh which any lively saying by the supposed X. Y. was sure to excite—“nevertheless, 'love me, love my dog,' love me, love my Egerton.”
Randal started, for his quick ear and subtle intelligence caught something sinister and hostile in the tone with which Levy uttered this equivocal comparison, and his eye darted toward the Baron. But the Baron had bent down his face, and was regaling himself upon an olive.
By-and-by the party rose from table. The four young noblemen had their engagements elsewhere, and proposed to separate without re-entering the drawing-room. As, in Goethe's theory, monads which have affinities with each other are irresistibly drawn together, so these gay children of pleasure had, by a common impulse, on rising from table, moved each to each, and formed a group round the fire-place. Randal stood a little apart, musing; the wit examined the pictures through his eye-glass; and Mr. Avenel drew the Baron toward the sideboard, and there held him in whispered conference. This colloquy did not escape the young gentlemen round the fire-place: they glanced toward each other.
“Settling the per centage on renewal,” said one, sotto voce.
“X. Y. does not seem such a very bad fellow,” said another.
“He looks rich, and talks rich,” said a third.