“Oh, you won’t go?” asked Sir Charles, grimly.
“No, sir; I will stay.”
“Ambrose, step down and call a couple of chairmen.”
“I should not advise it, sir. They will be hurt.”
“I will put you out with my own hands.”
“That, sir, you can always do. As my uncle, I could scarce resist you. But, short of throwing me down the stair, I do not see how you can avoid giving me half an hour of your attention.”
Sir Charles smiled. He could not help it. There was so much that was reminiscent of his own arrogant and eventful youth in the bearing of this youngster. He was mollified, too, by the defiance of menials and quick submission to himself. He turned to the glass and signed to Ambrose to continue his duties.
“I must ask you to await the conclusion of my toilet,” said he. “Then we shall see how far you can justify such an intrusion.”
When the valet had at last left the room Sir Charles turned his attention once more to his scapegrace nephew, who had viewed the details of the famous buck’s toilet with the face of an acolyte assisting at a mystery.
“Now, sir,” said the older man, “speak, and speak to the point, for I can assure you that I have many more important matters which claim my attention. The Prince is waiting for me at the present instant at Carlton House. Be as brief as you can. What is it that you want?”