“No, my lord,” said Parkins, as he set about his ministration with quiet celerity. “Mr. Scobie, the butler, did mention that his lordship never waited for any one.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Lord Cecil. “It’s bad enough to spoil one’s own dinner without ruining other people’s. All right? What are you fumbling at?”
“I was trying to hide the cut on your forehead, my lord.”
“Oh! never mind that,” said Lord Cecil, impatiently, and he hurried down.
The groom came forward with stately step, and led the way to the dining-room, and opened the door slowly, as if it were the entrance to the court.
It was a magnificent room, so large that it had been found necessary to curtail its dimensions with screens and curtains, the last of crimson plush with heavy bullion fringe. The table was loaded with a splendid service of plate, and at the head of it sat the Most Honorable the Marquis of Stoyle, Earl of Braithwaite and Denbigh, of Scotland, Baron Barranough of Ireland, Knight of the Garter of England, etc.
He rose with majestic courtesy as Lord Cecil entered, and the light from the delicately-shaded lamp, falling full upon his face and figure, made a picture of them calculated to strike the least observant of mortals.
He was an old man—seventy-two, the “Peerage” says, and that cannot lie, as somebody remarks—but he was as straight as an arrow, and save for two lines running from the corners of his finely-shaped nose, and a few wrinkles at the ends of his gray, piercing eyes, the face was as smooth as Lord Cecil’s own; smooth and almost as pale as ivory; every feature as cleanly cut as if it were carved in; smooth and cold as ice; and yet, with all its icelike impassability, a vague, indefinite something, not marked enough for an expression, which always riveted a stranger’s gaze, and made him uncomfortable. It was not exactly contempt, or hauteur, or dislike, but a commingling of all three, which imparted to the face a quality hard to define but easy to feel. It should be added, to complete the picture, that his white hair, worn rather long, was brushed straight back from his white forehead, and that the hands were snowy in color and of quite feminine shape and texture.
This imposing figure stood upright until Lord Cecil had taken his seat, the hard, steellike eyes regarding him with an impassive, icelike courtesy, then sank into its seat again.
It was not until he had done so that Lord Cecil was startled by seeing that a third person was present, for he had been unable to remove his eyes from the marquis’ while they were on his face. Now he saw that between him and the marquis sat a lady; and Lord Cecil, as his senses woke to the fact of her presence, was guilty of an astonished stare.