There are few men who can drop and resume an
acquaintance with such admirable self-possession as Barnes Newcome. When,
over our dessert, by which time all tongues were unloosed and each man
talked gaily, George Warrington feelingly thanked Barnes in a little mock
speech, for his great kindness in noticing us, presenting him at the same
time to Florac as the ornament of the City, the greatest banker of his
age, the beloved kinsman of their friend Clive, who was always writing
about him; Barnes said, with one of his accustomed curses, he did not
know whether Mr. Warrington was "chaffing" him or not, and indeed could
never make him out. Warrington replied that he never could make himself
out: and if ever Mr. Barnes could, George would thank him for information
on that subject.
Florac, like most Frenchmen very sober in his potations, left us for a
while over ours, which were conducted after the more liberal English
manner, and retired to smoke his cigar on the terrace. Barnes then freely
uttered his sentiments regarding him, which were not more favourable than
those which the young gentleman generally emitted respecting gentlemen
whose backs were turned.
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