without the pathetic hoarseness or cavernous wheeze which had previously
thrown a wet blanket over his efforts at discourse. But Vance put no
very stern construction on the dissimulation which his change seemed to
denote. Since Waife was still one-eyed and a cripple, he might very
excusably shrink from reappearance on the stage, and affect a third
infirmity to save his pride from the exhibition of the two infirmities
that were genuine.

That which most puzzled Vance was that which had most puzzled the
Cobbler,--What could the man once have been? how fallen so low?--for fall
it was, that was clear. The painter, though not himself of patrician
extraction, had been much in the best society. He had been a petted
favourite in great houses. He had travelled. He had seen the world.
He had the habits and instincts of good society.

Now, in what the French term the /beau monde/, there are little traits
that reveal those who have entered it,--certain tricks of phrase, certain
modes of expression,--even the pronunciation of familiar words, even the
modulation of an accent. A man of the most refined bearing may not have
these peculiarities; a man, otherwise coarse and brusque in his manner,
may. The slang of the /beau monde/ is quite apart from the code of high
breeding. Now and then, something in Waife's talk seemed to show that he
had lighted on that beau-world; now and then, that something wholly
vanished. So that Vance might have said, "He has been admitted there,
not inhabited it."

Yet Vance could not feel sure, after all; comedians are such takes in.
But was the man, by the profession of his earlier life, a comedian?
Vance asked the question adroitly.