Muriel put her hands upon his shoulders. For the first time she really liked him. “I think you’re splendid, father,” she said.
“Now, if Daniel Lane took his position in society,” he mused, “if, for instance, he were Lord Barthampton, there would be no difficulty. I could push him forward, and in a few years he would be old enough to succeed me here at the Residency. A little more care about his appearance, perhaps—”
“And a little less rudeness,” said Muriel.
“No, he is not rude,” Lord Blair corrected her. “He is only unceremonious.”
There was a tap at the door, and Rupert entered. He was the only one of the Secretaries who lived on the premises.
“I’m just off to bed,” he said. “Is there anything you want me to do, sir?”
Lord Blair looked at him, as though waking from a dream. “Let me see, yes, there was something I was going to ask you to do. What was it, now? Dear, dear! How bad my memory is! Ah, yes, I have it! A letter: I want you to acknowledge it formally, the first thing in the morning. It’s on my study table. No, you could not find it in all that litter. I must really have a grand tidying-up, I must indeed. One moment: I’ll get it for you.”
He hurried from the room, in short, nervous steps, and, as he disappeared, Rupert turned to Muriel. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “You do look beautiful tonight. I could hardly take my eyes off you all the evening.”
Muriel smiled happily. “I’m glad you think so. I thought I looked a sight; and Prince What’s-his-name was evidently bored with me.”
“On the contrary,” he answered, “he told me he thought you were charming, and such a connoisseur.”