This avowal, made without the least appearance either of shame or retenue, seemed to have a striking effect on the whole society. The president's trembling hand stole the sketch back to the portfolio, afraid doubtless it might be claimed in form, or else compensation expected by the artist. Lady Penelope was disconcerted, like an awkward horse when it changes the leading foot in galloping. She had to recede from the respectful and easy footing on which he had contrived to place himself, to one which might express patronage on her own part, and dependence on Tyrrel's; and this could not be done in a moment.
The Man of Law murmured, “Circumstances—circumstances—I thought so!”
Sir Bingo whispered to his friend the Squire, “Run out—blown up—off the course—pity—d——d pretty fellow he has been!”
“A raff from the beginning!” whispered Mowbray.—“I never thought him any thing else.”
“I'll hold ye a poney of that, my dear, and I'll ask him.”
“Done, for a poney, provided you ask him in ten minutes,” said the Squire; “but you dare not, Bingie—he has a d——d cross game look, with all that civil chaff of his.”
“Done,” said Sir Bingo, but in a less confident tone than before, and with a determination to proceed with some caution in the matter.—“I have got a rouleau above, and Winterblossom shall hold stakes.”
“I have no rouleau,” said the Squire; “but I'll fly a cheque on Meiklewham.”
“See it be better than your last,” said Sir Bingo, “for I won't be skylarked again. Jack, my boy, you are had.”