"
"Good," Henshaw responded with what seemed a half-smothered yawn. "Regret
for a thing that is gone past recall does not pay; though as long as
there is a chance of getting it I believe in never calling oneself
beaten. Here we are at the _Lion_."
CHAPTER II
THE STAINED FLOWERS
"What do you think of our acquaintance?" Gifford said as they settled
down in the private room of Kelson, who made the _Golden Lion_ his
hunting quarters.
"Not much. In fact, I took a particular dislike to the fellow. Wrong type
of sportsman, eh?"
"Decidedly. Fine figure of a man and good-looking enough, but spoilt by
that objectionable, cock-sure manner."
"And I should say a by no means decent character."
"A swanker to the finger-tips. And that implies a liar."
"Not worth discussing," Kelson said. "He goes to-morrow. I made a point
of inquiring how long he had engaged his room for. One night."
"Good. Then we shan't be under the ungracious necessity of shaking him
off. I can't tell you how sick I am, Harry, at the loss of my things."
"No more than I am, my dear fellow. If only a suit of mine would fit you.
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