I
believe it was the elegant and slender shape that would have set off
anything, and that gave to his handsome costume and 'properties' an
undefinable grace not their own. Indeed, as he leaned his elbow upon the
window sash, looking carelessly across the river, he did not seem much
to care what became of the labours of his toilet.
'I have not seen her since I came; and now I'm going to this stupid ball
on the chance of meeting her there. And she'll not come--she avoids
me--the chance of meeting her--and she'll not come. Well! if she be not
kind to me, what care I for whom she be? And what great matter, after
all, if she were there. She'd be, I suppose, on her high horse--and--and
'tis not a feather to me. Let her take her own way. What care I? If
she's happy, why shouldn't I--why shouldn't I?'
Five minutes after:--
'Who the plague are these fellows in the Phoenix? How the brutes howl
over their liquor!' said Devereux, as he and Puddock, at the door-steps,
awaited Cluffe, who was fixing his buckles in the drawing-room.
'The Corporation of Tailors,' answered Puddock, a little loftily, for he
was not inwardly pleased that the precincts of the 'Phoenix' should be
profaned by their mechanical orgies.
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