"We had a very pleasant drive home," said I, willing to effect a diversion in favour of Leicester, who was puffing desperately at his cigar in a savage kind of silence;—"and a capital supper afterwards; I wish you had been with us."
"And I had a very jolly drive too: I got a gig, and galloped nearly all the way; and a very good supper, too, before I started; but I won't return your compliment; we were a very snug party without you. Upon my word, Leicester, your eldest cousin is one of the very nicest girls I ever met: the sort of person you get acquainted with at once, and so very lively and good-humoured—no nonsense about her."
"I'll make a point of letting her know your good opinion," replied Horace, in a tone conveying pretty plainly a rebuke of such presumption. But it was lost upon Hurst.
"Probably you need not trouble yourself," said Fane; "I dare say he has let her know it himself already."
"No—really no"—said Hurst, as if deprecating any thing so decided; "but Miss Leicester is a very nice girl; clever, I should say, decidedly; there's a shade of one can hardly call it rusticity—about her manner; but I like it, myself—I like it."
"Do you?"—said Horace, very drily.
"Oh! a season in London would take all that off." And Hurst began to quaver again—
"Queen of my soul, whose"—
"I'll tell you what," said Horace, rising, and standing with his back to the fire, with his hands under his coat-tails—"You may not be aware of it, but you're rather drunk, Hurst."
"Drunk!" said Hurst; "no, that's quite a mistake; three glasses, I think it was, of champagne at supper; and you men have sat here drinking punch all the evening; if any body's drunk, it's not me."