“Lots for you to do, my boy. Martin has married an heiress and cut the concern. My sister has married the son of old Baggs, of the great firm of Baggs and Keepe, solicitors. My fortune is made, and so is yours!” “I’m glad to hear it.” “And, by Jove, old chap! those articles of yours, in the _Pepper and Salt Magazine_, have taken the whole baking--are regular scorchers; lots of people are talking of them, and asking if they are by the same Laurence Wynne, of the Inner Temple--fellow with a beard? Who would have thought of your breaking out in that line, eh? as ready with your pen as your tongue.” “Readier.” “And look here, Larry, there is that case of Cox _v._ Fox coming on, and you can have a finger in the pie if you like.” Larry did not clutch at this lucrative opening; he puffed away moodily at a cigarette, and stared out of the window in rather an abstracted fashion. His keen-eyed friend noted this, and said, in a totally different key-- “And what about Mrs. Wynne?” His companion looked at him quickly, coloured faintly, threw his cigarette out of the window, and said nothing. “She has not told the old gentleman yet?” “No, not yet.” “So I surmised, as they say in America. I saw her at the opera last night, the cynosure of all eyes, and her proud and happy father noting that half the glasses in the house were fixed on Miss West. Ahem! How long is it to go on--this little comedy? Eh?” “I can’t tell you!” impatiently. “Not another hour as far as I am concerned. I don’t wish her to sail under false colours any longer. I came up to see her to-day.” “The deuce you did!” in blunt amazement. “But she was out.” “I suppose you saw the house and the style. By Jove! it’s like royalty. I dined there last week.” “_You_ did?” in unfeigned amazement. “Yes, your most humble servant. I’ve met Mr. West at my club; he knows a friend of mine--an impecunious lord--that is all. The dinner was a banquet, a feast fit for Lucullus himself. I had the honour of being presented to Miss West.” “Indeed!” “Of course I had never seen her before,” winking at his friend. “And, upon my word, I declare I scarcely recognized her! Dress, diamonds, and manner--manner begotten of importance, appreciation, wealth, and luxurious surroundings. Not that Mrs. Wynne’s manners were not always those of a gentlewoman, but there is a difference between doing the honours of a couple of herrings and a sheep’s head, in one living room, and being the hostess presiding over a French dinner--with perfect appointments and exotic flowers--entertaining lords and ladies and bishops--eh?--and doing it well, too. But wherever she got her good blood, Laurence, it did not come from her father’s side of the house. I sometimes felt inclined to run my fork into him, or to shy a wine-glass at his head. He is so blatantly proud of Robert West, his success, his money, his grand acquaintances, and, above _all_, his daughter. Excuse me, he is a thundering little bounder!”