accuse me of distorting facts?"

With the end of his third tumbler there had come upon Greenacre a
tendency to maudlin dignity and sensitiveness; he laid a hand on his
friend's arm and looked at him with pained reproach.

"Gammon! I was never inclined to mendacity, though I confess to
mendicity I have occasionally fallen. To you, Gammon, I could not
lie; I respect you, I admire you, in spite of the great distance
between us in education and habits of mind. If I thought you accused
me of falsehood, my dear Gammon, it would distress me deeply. Assure
me that you don't. I am easily put out to-day. The death of poor
Bolsover--my friend before he succeeded to the title. And that
reminds me. But for a mere accident I might myself at this moment
have borne a title. My mother, before her marriage, refused the
offer of a man who rose to wealth and honours, and only a year or
two ago died a baronet. Well, well, the chances of life the
accidents of birth!"

He shook his head for some minutes, murmuring inarticulate regrets.

"I think I'll just have one more, Gammon."

"I think not, old boy. Where did you say you lived?"

"Oh, that's all right. Most comfortable lodgings in the parish of
St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. If you have the slightest doubt of my
veracity, leave me, Gammon; I beg you will leave me. I--in fact, I
have an appointment with a gentleman I met at poor Bolsover's
funeral."