"No."
"Well, I think it is charming—really charming. Rockminster was dining with the officers of the Coldstream Guards the other evening, and he promised to send a copy to the bandmaster as soon as it is published. But Sybil wants more than that, of course; she wants to see whether the commander-in-chief wouldn't recommend it, so that it could be taken up by all the regiments. Wouldn't that be splendid?—to think that
Sybil should provide a marching-song for the whole British army!"
"Yes, indeed," said he, with great politeness. "And why shouldn't the commander-in-chief recommend it? A marching-song is as important as a new button. But I must get a look at the music, if we are all to join in the chorus."
The dinner was not long-protracted, for there was to be a concert during the evening; and, indeed, people began to arrive early—strolling through the galleries, looking at the pictures, or talking together in small groups. It was during this promiscuous assembling that Octavius Quirk got hold of Lionel, and, with savage disgust, drew his attention to a hostler-looking person who had just come into the room.
"Do you see that ill-conditioned brute; what's he doing here?"
Lionel glanced in the direction indicated.
"I don't know who he is."
"Don't you know Quincey Hooper? the correspondent of the Philadelphia Roll-Call—a cur who toadies every Englishman he meets, and at the same time sneers at everything English in his wretched Philadelphia rag."
Then Lionel instantly bethought him of Miss Lestrange's hint; was this the correspondent who was to arouse the interest of the great American Continent in Lady Adela's forthcoming novel, even as Octavius Quirk was expected to write about it in England? But surely, with the wide Atlantic lying between their respective spheres of operation, there was no need for rivalry? Why did Mr. Quirk still glare in the direction of the new-comer with ill-disguised, or rather with wholly undisguised, disdain?