“Yes, you ought to be there; I forgot. Well, you must leave this affair in my hands. I 'll speak to Croydon and Locksley about it,—both stanch friends of yours. I can make no pledge, you know,—no actual promise—”
“Nor I either, my Lord,” said Dunn, rising. “Let me, however, ask you to accept of my excuses for Sunday at dinner.”
“I regret much that we are not to have the pleasure of your company,” said his Lordship, with a formal courtesy.
“These appointments,” said Dunn, laying down a list he had made on the table, “are, of course, in your Lordship's hands.”
“I conclude so,” was the dry reply, as the Minister but-toned his coat.
“I wish your Lordship a very good morning. Good-bye, my Lord.” And the words had their peculiar utterance.
“Good-bye, Mr. Dunn,” said the Minister, shortly, and rang for his carriage.
Dunn had but reached the foot of the stairs, when he heard a rapid tread behind him. “I beg pardon, Mr. Dunn,” cried Bagwell, the private secretary; “his Lordship sent me to overtake you, and say that the matter you are desirous about shall be done. His Lordship also hopes you can dine with him on Sunday.”
“Oh, very well; say 'Yes, with much pleasure.' Has his Lordship gone?”
“Yes, by the private door. He was in a great hurry, and will, I fear, be late, after all.”