"Glad to see you, Lord Porthoning!" I said, lying miserably. "Do you know
my father-in-law, Mr. Bundercombe?"
Mr. Bundercombe extended his ready hand, which my connection, however,
appeared not to see.
"Yes, yes!" he admitted. "Some one pointed him out to me. I asked who on
earth it could be. No offense, mind," Lord Porthoning continued; "but I
hate all Americans and our connections with them. I have been looking at
your presents, Paul. A poorish lot--a poorish lot! Now I was at Dick
Stanley's wedding last week--married Colonel Morrison's daughter, you
know. Never saw such jewelry in my life! Four necklaces; and a tiara from
the Duchess of Westshire that must have been worth a cool ten thousand
pounds."
"I am sorry my wedding presents do not meet with your approval," I
remarked. "Personally I think it is very kind of my friends to send me
anything at all."
"Rubbish, Paul! Rubbish!" my amiable connection interjected irritably.
"Don't talk like an idiot! You know they send you things because they've
got to. You've been through it yourself. Must have cost you a pretty penny
in your time sending out wedding presents! Now you reap the harvest."
"I suppose," I observed dryly, "that yours is the reasonable point of
view.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274