“There is no cause,” said Egerton, coldly. “I have had a slight attack of bronchitis; and as parliament meets so soon, I must take advice from my doctor, if I would be heard by the reporters. Lay the letter on the table, and be kind enough to wait for my reply.”
Randal withdrew. He had never seen a physician in that house before, and it seemed surprising that Egerton should even take a medical opinion upon a slight attack. While waiting in the ante-room there was a knock at the street door, and presently a gentleman, exceedingly well dressed, was shown in, and honoured Randal with an easy and half-familiar bow. Randal remembered to have met this personage at dinner, and at the house of a young nobleman of high fashion, but had not been introduced to him, and did not even know him by name. The visitor was better informed.
“Our friend Egerton is busy, I hear, Mr. Leslie,” said he, arranging the camellia in his button-hole.
“Our friend Egerton!” It must be a very great man to say “Our friend Egerton.”
“He will not be engaged long, I dare say,” returned Randal, glancing his shrewd inquiring eye over the stranger’s person.
“I trust not; my time is almost as precious as his own. I was not so fortunate as to be presented to you when we met at Lord Spendquick’s. Good fellow, Spendquick; and decidedly clever.”
Lord Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman without three ideas.
Randal smiled.
In the mean while the visitor had taken out a card from an embossed morocco case, and now presented it to Randal, who read thereon, “Baron Levy, No.—, Bruton St.”
The name was not unknown to Randal. It was a name too often on the lips of men of fashion not to have reached the ears of an habitue of good society.