But Garve stuck to his own opinion.
"Unless my intuitions are very much at fault," said he, in an impressive undertone, "to-night has struck him a heavy blow. I've known men put an end to themselves for less. You remember poor O'Hagan two seasons back?"
"Oh, yes; but O'Hagan was an emotional Irishman. This chap's not a Yankee for nothing. He's got his head screwed on the right way if ever a man had. Don't think I ever saw a cuter specimen."
Garve looked at the diamond merchant with a tolerant smile. "Of course, being an American, he's necessarily cute, while Irishmen are necessarily emotional, and Englishmen like myself necessarily slow-witted but honest. You allow for no shades in your character-painting. However, I'll try to believe, in this matter, you're right. Look here, he s coming this way now," he added in a moment; "can't you introduce him to me?"
Morris was proud to be in a position to gratify a baronet's wish.
"Allow me to make you and my friend Sir Julian Garve acquainted," said he, as the young man with the pince-nez was about to pass them by. "Mr. Francis Underhill, of New York. You'll be surprised at my having got your name and description so pat, but I took the liberty of reading it in the hotel book when I was up there to-day."
The young man removed his glasses, polished them lightly on his silk handkerchief, and readjusted them with care for the purpose of looking the speaker up and down. ("Damn his cheek!" the Other Fellow had suggested at his ear.)
"No liberty taken by a member of your talented race would ever surprise me, Mr. Moses," he replied.
"My name's Morris," corrected the diamond broker, stiffly.
