These new men never know anything.

'You purchased that famous steeple-chaser of his from Mr.
Cecil's creditors, didn't you!' asks Pulteney.

Rock just looks him over.
Such a look, by George! 'I received Forest King as my dead friend's last gift.' Pulteney never takes the hint--not he.

On he blunders: 'Because, if you were inclined to part with him, I want a good new hunting strain, with plenty of fencing power, and I'd take him for the stud at any figure you liked.' I thought the Seraph would have knocked him down--I did, upon my honor! He was red as this wine in a second with rage, and then as white as a woman.

'You are quite right,' he says quietly, and I swear each word cut like a bullet, 'you do want a new strain with something like breeding in it, but--I hardly think you'll get it for the three next generations.