"Quite a good deal of him—même trop," said the Countess.
In the meantime the Belgian extended a hand like a twenty-pound York ham. He was an enormous athlete, whose sweet temper had not yet been injured by his prolonged war with fat. He was of great simplicity, and his forehead ran back at a gentle slope from his eyebrows to the back of his head. Intelligent? Mais que voulez-vous que je vous dise? Can one have everything? His clothes were of the best quality and of the latest fashion. Let us be content.
Duncan Garth grasped some of the extended hand. "This is most kind of you, Monsieur Renard. We have all admired your prowess, and are delighted to have the chance to know you a little better."
The Belgian was slow and self-possessed. "Thank—you," he said.
"We shall have to behave ourselves," laughed Garth, "or you'll be throwing all of us out of the window."
"But no," said the Unconquerable, seriously. "That will not be so. My manager does not permit me to do anything of that kind, unless arranged with him."
"It would be an excellent advertisement," said Garth. "Just you think it over." He turned to some new arrivals.
At this moment Ferguson laid a manicured hand on the Belgian's almighty arm. "Pardon me, Monsieur Renard, but the Countess of Longshore is most anxious that you should be presented to her."
"That is all right. I kom," said the placid wrestler.
The new arrivals were Miss Bostock of the post-office, Sir Edwin Goodchild of Harley Street, and Mr Pudbrook of Happy Homes. Miss Bostock was tailor-made, smooth-haired, rather hygienic about the boots, and wore pince-nez. She looked as if she would have been handsomer if she had been happier. Her voice shook a little as she responded to Mr Garth's most respectful salutation, but her nervousness was not too apparent.