stupid parties, if he could help it, and therefore thought it best to
change the conversation,--"I hear, Lord Borodaile, that some hunters
of yours are to be sold. I purpose being a bidder for Thunderbolt."

"I have a horse to sell you, Mr. Linden," cried Mr. Percy Bobus,
springing from the sofa into civility; "a superb creature."

"Thank you," said Clarence, laughing; "but I can only afford to buy
one, and I have taken a great fancy to Thunderbolt."

Lord Borodaile, whose manners were very antiquated in their
affability, bowed. Mr. Bobus sank back into his sofa, and resumed the
paper.

A pause ensued. Clarence was chilled in spite of himself. Lord
Borodaile played with a paper-cutter.

"Have you been to Lady Westborough's lately?" said Clarence, breaking
silence.

"I was there last night," replied Lord Borodaile.

"Indeed!" cried Clarence. "I wonder I did not see you there, for I
dined with them."

Lord Borodaile's hair curled of itself. "He dined there, and I only
asked in the evening!" thought he; but his sarcastic temper suggested
a very different reply.

"Ah," said he, elevating his eyebrows, "Lady Westborough told me she