"Is that you, Oliver?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Who is in the antechamber?"
"Your lordship's tailor, who has come to try on the plum-colored coat with the jonquil trimmings; the little glove-woman from Piccadilly, who insists upon a word with your lordship; and Capt. Hackman, who has already called twice to inquire for your lordship."
"Let the tailor wait. Tell the Captain that I shall require his services later, and let him see to it that he brings two fellows of the determined sort along with him. As for the glove-woman, send her away. Because one shows these creatures some little attention of an evening when one is drunk, they think they have rights. Nothing could be more ridiculous, Oliver."
"Assuredly not, my lord."
"Is Lebeau there?"
"Mons. Lebeau has this instant come in."
"Ask him to come to me."
A moment later the former tutor and present factotum of Lord Mowbray smilingly entered the chamber like a man who expects to receive his quietus with a bare bodkin and is disposed to make the best of it.