Mark Rivers spoke at last, coldly and contemptuously, and as if he were addressing a little child.
"You pick up a lot of scandal at the bank, don't you, Mr.—Mr.—I didn't catch your name?"
"Julius Caesar," I laughed, "or, at any rate, that will do for the time. Yes," I went on, good-humoredly, "we hear a lot about various people there, but we soon get to be able to sift the false from the true."
"Excellent," he commented drily, "and I have no doubt that in time if you cultivate a habit of discrimination, you will be able to do some of the sifting for yourself," and he turned at once to Mr. McLaren and began talking about the prospects of a good lambing season.
I ground my teeth in annoyance. This man was insufferable in his contemptuous indifference to my opinions, but there was apparen
