' They control the
sentiments of the 'better class.' Opinion, like dress, descends from them.
They no longer respect Denslow, and their women have seen the weakness of
Honoria."
"Yes, but Denslow still has 'the people.'"
"That is not enough. I have calculated the chances, and mustered all our
available force. We shall have no support among the 'better class,' since
we are disgraced with the 'millionnaires.'"
At this moment Denslow came in.
"Ah! Dalton,--like you! I have been looking for you to show the pictures.
Devil a thing I know about them. The Duke wondered at your absence."
"Where is Honoria?"
"Ill, ill,--fainted. The house is new; smell of new wood and mortar;
deused disagreeable in Honoria. If it had not been for the Duke, she would
have fallen. That's a monstrous clever fellow, that Rosecouleur. Admires
Honoria vastly. Come,--the pictures."
"Mr. John Vanbrugen Denslow, you are an ass!"
The large, smooth, florid millionnaire, dreaming only of senatorial
honors, the shouts of the multitude, and the adoration of a party press,
cowered like a dog under the lash of the "man of society."
"Rather rough,--ha, De Vere? What have _I_ done? Am I an ass because I
know nothing of pictures? Come, Dalton, you are harsh with your old
friend."
"Denslow, I have told you a thousand times never to concede position.
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