"Yes, and like a woman, meant half-past," returned the other, hiding a yawn.
"Stan's too young to value his dinner properly, but Leroy ought to have been punctual. Oh, here is Stan!" as a slight, well-dressed man sprang hastily from a smart motor and came towards them.
"Hello!" said the new-comer, shaking hands, "you two fellows first? I hope I'm not late, Shelton."
"Of course you're late," growled Shelton, with characteristic pessimism. "You always are, and Leroy is worse. Come along, we may as well wait inside as in this beastly draught."
In the great dining-hall the snowy-covered tables were being taken rapidly by members about to dine; silent-footed waiters were hurrying to and fro, carrying out their various duties, while intermittently the sound of opening champagne bottles mingled with the buzz of conversation and the ripple of laughter.
The three men, Mortimer Shelton, Lord Standon and Frank Parselle, seated themselves at a table in a comfortable recess and took stock of the room, responding to numerous nods and smiles of recognition, while grumbling at the unpunctuality of their friend.
"Ten past seven!" groaned Shelton, looking at his watch. "I might have known that Leroy would be late. Shall we wait?"
"Oh, yes!" said Parselle; "Adrien might not like it, you know. It is a bore, though! The soup will be as thick as mud!"
"By Jove! I'd forgotten," interrupted Standon suddenly. "I met Leroy yesterday, and he asked me to tell you he might be late, as he was off to Barminster Castle last night. We were not to wait. He gave me a note, and--if I haven't left it in my other coat--" He fumbled in his pocket. "No; here it is." He produced the note with an air of triumph, and Shelton, with a muttered exclamation of disgust, ordered dinner to be served before he opened it. As he did so and ran his eye over the contents, he frowned.
"Just listen to this," he said irritably.