"Look here, Etchingham," exclaimed Gilbert Lloyd, with a mock air of intense interest, "you mustn't do this, 'pon my soul you mustn't, or you'll hurt yourself. I've noticed lately a distinct tendency on your part to be epigrammatic; you weren't intended for it, and it won't agree with you. Take a friend's advice, and cut it." "Considerate old boy! Tell me the news." "Tell _you_ the news--I like that. Tell the news to a man whose life is passed in what the newspaper fellows call the 'vortex of fashion:' who is so much engaged that his humble servant here can't get five minutes with him on business, when it's most particularly wanted. Tell _you_ the news, indeed!" "No. But I say, you know what I mean, Gilbert. How are we getting on? Ascot, you know, and all that?" "O, business! Well, Bosjesman will win the Trial Stakes, and Plume will be beaten like a sack for the Cup; both of which facts are good for us. We shall get Dumfunk's Derby-money, or most of it; he's come to terms--nice terms--with that discount company at Shrewsbury; and little Jim Potter's shoulder's better, and he'll be able to ride." "And what about the house?" "What house? Parliament? Does your lordship intend to put me in for Etchingham? I'm as tit a fiddle for that work, and could roll them speeches off the reel--" "Don't be an ass, Gilbert! I mean the house for the week--at Ascot?" "O, I see! Yes, that's all settled. I couldn't get anything nearer than Windsor; but I've got a very pretty little box there. Charley Chesterton rents it for the year--he's there with the Blues, you know; but Mrs. Chesterton's going away, and Charley will go into barracks for the week, and we can have the house. It's a stiffish figure, but they can get any amount that week, you know." "O yes, of course, that don't matter. And it's a nice house, you say?" "Very pretty little place indeed--do very well for us." "Yes. And Mrs. Chesterton's been living there? She's a nice woman, ain't she?" "Yes, she's nice enough, as women go. But what has she to do with it?" "Well--I mean to say, it's a sort of crib that--don't you know--one could ask a lady to stop in?" "O--h!" exclaimed Gilbert Lloyd, with a very long face--"that's it, is it?" "No, no, 'pon my soul, you don't understand what I mean," said Lord Ticehurst hurriedly. "Fact of the matter is, Lady Carabas wants to come down for the Cup-day; and she'll bring a friend, of course; and I told her about my having a house somewhere in the neighbourhood for the week, and thought she and the other lady, and their maids and people, could--don't you see--stay. What do you think?"