DISCUSSION.
I will converse with iron-witted fools
And unrespective boys—none are for me
That look into me with suspicious eyes.
Richard III.
“How now, Jekyl!” said Lord Etherington, eagerly; “what news from the enemy?—Have you seen him?”
“I have,” replied Jekyl.
“And in what humour did you find him?—in none that was very favourable, I dare say, for you have a baffled and perplexed look, that confesses a losing game—I have often warned you how your hang-dog look betrays you at brag—And then, when you would fain brush up your courage, and put a good face on a bad game, your bold looks always remind me of a standard hoisted only half-mast high, and betraying melancholy and dejection, instead of triumph and defiance.”
“I am only holding the cards for your lordship at present,” answered Jekyl; “and I wish to Heaven there may be no one looking over the hand.”
“How do you mean by that?”
“Why, I was beset, on returning through the wood, by an old bore, a Nabob, as they call him, and Touchwood by name.”
“I have seen such a quiz about,” said Lord Etherington—“What of him?”