“I can’t see anybody—no, nobody,” Lord Blair expostulated. “What’s he want? Who is he?”
“A Mr. Bindane. He’s in the drawing-room with Lady Muriel.”
Lord Blair sat up briskly. “Benifett Bindane?” he asked, sharply.
Rupert nodded, and thereat the Great Man jumped to his feet.
“Where is he?” he exclaimed. “Show him in at once. Dear me, dear me! How fortunate! I had no idea he was in Egypt. No, I’ll come into the drawing-room.”
He hurried past Rupert, and hastened across the corridor.
“How d’you do, my dear sir, how d’you do,” he exclaimed, as he tripped into the room and wrung his visitor’s feeble hand.
“My wife,” said Mr. Bindane, bowing towards his startled spouse.
Lord Blair took her hand in both his own. “An old friend!” he cried. “Capital, capital! We were reading about your marriage the other day. Splendid!” And he beamed from one to the other. Then, turning again to Mr. Bindane, “You’ve come to see for yourself, eh?” he exclaimed. “Very wise, very wise indeed.”
“It’s a pleasure trip,” the other replied; “our honeymoon, you know.”