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"So much the better," said Adrien; "perhaps his owner has thought discretion the better part of valour and withdrawn him." The conversation then flowed into other channels; Paxhorn provoking roars of merriment by his stories and epigrams. Presently the ladies withdrew; Lady Constance to prepare for a ride with Adrien, which he had just suggested, and Miss Penelope to rest her "nerves."
Where's the private account?" "Here, sir," said Harker, in a dry, rasping voice, somewhat like the creaking of an old, rusty-hinged door. "Where? oh, yes, I see. Oh, Paxhorn has come to us, has he? Writing poetry is not a paying game, eh? Or is it the fine, grand company that runs away with the golden counters?
"Yes, indeed," from another. "Paxhorn, I congratulate you again, old man." "Thank you," replied the author, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Thanks to Leroy, it will run for a hundred nights, and my name will be made." "On Bon-bons," sneered Shelton; "what a thing it is to be a popular playwright."
I thought the roan was not to be touched." "And I, also," said Mortimer Shelton; "I can't understand it! The only new entry was a weedy chestnut, listed by a Yorkshireman in the afternoon. 'Holdfast' they call him." "He'll require more hustling than holding," returned Paxhorn sarcastically. Lord Standon finished his wine.
"Don't scold me, belle amie," he said in his soft tones; "lay the blame on Mr. Paxhorn. I dined with him at the club. You know what Paxhorn is there was simply no getting away. But, now, have you saved me a dance?" "You do not deserve one," she said, all the irritation melting beneath the magic of his smile and the music of his voice.
"No, sir, it is rather hot though in this dress," he returned hurriedly, hating even the very semblance of a lie. "I believe Constance is waiting for me," he continued. "Ah, yes, there she is. The ball is going off well, don't you think so?" His father nodded. "Yes," he said, "your friends are pronouncing it to be a success. Mr. Paxhorn declares it is a vision of the period.
"A modesty quite unfashionable," exclaimed Lady Merivale, whose beautiful face had flushed ever so slightly at the mention of Adrien's name. "Yes," admitted Paxhorn. "Men have to proclaim their gifts very loudly in the market-place, before they sell their wares nowadays." "Oh, Adrien is a veritable Crichton," put in Lord Standon.
"Ah," returned her husband, turning away and gazing admiringly at a bull by Potter. He was as wise as he had been before; for the jargon of Art and fashionable society was not one of his accomplishments. "I tell you who would be a good judge," put in Mr. Paxhorn. The rest turned inquiring eyes on him. "Who?" asked Lord Standon. "Adrien Leroy.
"Has there been a luncheon party?" queried Mr. Vermont. "Yes, sir," answered Norgate aggrievedly; "Mr. Shelton, Lord Standon and Mr. Paxhorn." "And bridge?" murmured Mr. Vermont inquiringly. "Yes, sir; and from what I heard, I believe Mr. Leroy lost." "Ah," commented the other softly, "I fear Mr. Leroy always does lose, doesn't he?"
Well, all fish or idiots that come to our net are welcomed, no matter what wind drives them. Thirty per cent. from Paxhorn. No more?" "I could not get any more, sir," said Harker earnestly; "I tried tried hard indeed I did, I assure you. I would not give in until he threatened to go to another office."
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