Mrs.Carruther?
Oh, ay!" An expression which, if he had not been a baronet, would have been a leer, came on his lips.
Shelton felt that he was referring to the leaf in his mental pocket-book covered with the anecdotes, figures, and facts about that lady.

"The old ogre means," thought he, "that I'm lucky because his leaf is blank about Antonia." But the old baronet had turned, with his smile, and his sardonic, well-bred air, to listen to a bit of scandal on the other side.
The two men to Shelton's left were talking.
"What! You don't collect anything?
How's that?
Everybody collects something.

I should be lost without my pictures." "No, I don't collect anything.

Given it up; I was too awfully had over my Walkers." Shelton had expected a more lofty reason; he applied himself to the Madeira in his glass.

That, had been "collected" by his host, and its price was going up! You couldn't get it every day; worth two guineas a bottle! How precious the idea that other people couldn't get it, made it seem! Liquid delight; the price was going up! Soon there would be none left; immense! Absolutely no one, then, could drink it! "Wish I had some of this," said the old baronet, "but I have drunk all mine." "Poor old chap!" thought Shelton; "after all, he's not a bad old boy.