As Mr.Meeson's conduct to her got about, the little society of the ship--which was, after all a very fair example of all society in miniature--fell away from this publishing Prince, and not even the jingling of his money-bags could lure it back.

He the great, the practically omnipotent, the owner of two millions, and the hard master of hundreds upon whose toil he battened, was practically _cut_.

Even the clerk, who was going out on a chance of getting a place in a New Zealand bank, would have nothing to say to him.
And what is more, he felt it more even than an ordinary individual would have done.

He, the "Printer-devil," as poor little Jeannie used to call him, he to be slighted and flouted by a pack of people whom he could buy up three times over, and all on account of a wretched authoress--an authoress, if you please! It made Mr.Meeson very wild--a state of affairs which was brought to a climax when one morning Lord Holmhurst, who had for several days been showing a growing dislike to his society, actually almost cut him dead; that is, he did not notice his outstretched hand, and passed him with a slight bow.
"Never mind, my Lord--never mind!" muttered Mr.Meeson after that somewhat pompous but amiable nobleman's retreating form.

"We'll see if I can't come square with you.