"Elsley, don't you see the wings sprouting already, under his shooting jacket ?" "They are my braces, I suppose, of course," said Scoutbush, who never understood a joke about himself, though he liked one about other people; while Elsley, who hated all jokes, made no answer--at least none worth recording.

In fact, as the reader may have discovered, Elsley, save _tete-a-tete_ with some one who took his fancy, was somewhat of a silent and morose animal, and, as little Scoutbush confided to Mellot, there was no getting a rise out of him.

All which Lucia saw as keenly as any one, and tried to pass off by chattering nervously and fussily for him, as well as for herself; whereby she only made him the more cross, for he could not the least understand her argument--"Why, my dear, if you don't talk to people, I must!" "But why should people be talked to ?" "Because they like it, and expect it!" "The more foolish they.

Much better to hold their tongues and think." "Or read your poetry, I suppose ?" And then would begin a squabble.
Meanwhile there was one, at least, of the party, who was watching Lucia with most deep and painful interest.

Lord Scoutbush was too busy with his own comforts, especially with his fishing, to think much of this moroseness of Elsley's.