“Your Ladyship's politeness is never at fault,” said he, rising to open the door for her.
“Has Temple told you that the box on the lower tier is now free—the box I spoke of?”
“He has; but our stay here is now uncertain. It may be days; it may be hours—”
“And why was not I told? I have been giving orders to tradespeople—accepting invitations—making engagements, and what not. Am I to be treated like the wife of a subaltern in a marching regiment—to hold myself ready to start when the route comes?”
“How I could envy that subaltern,” said he, with an inimitable mixture of raillery and deference.
She darted on him a look of indignant anger, and swept out of the room.
Lord Culduff rang his bell, and told the servant to beg Mr. Temple Bramleigh would have the kindness to step down to him.
“Write to Filangieri, Temple,” said he, “and say that I desire to have access to the prisoner Rogers. We know nothing of his escape, and the demand will embarrass—There, don't start objections, my dear boy; I never play a card without thinking what the enemy will do after he scores the trick.”
And with this profound encomium on himself he dismissed the secretary, and proceeded to read the morning papers.