“Ah, Stevins, how d'ye do?” said Upton. “You've had a cold journey over the Cenis.”
“Came by the Splugen, your Excellency. I went round by Vienna, and Maurice Esterhazy took me as far as Milan.”
The Princess stared with some astonishment. That the messenger should thus familiarly style one of that great family was indeed matter of wonderment to her; nor was it lessened as Upton whispered her, “Ask him to dine.”
“And London, how is it? Very empty, Stevins?” continued he.
“A desert,” was the answer.
“Where's Lord Adderley?”
“At Brighton. The King can't do without him,—greatly to Adderley's disgust; for he is dying to have a week's shooting in the Highlands.”
“And Cantworth, where is he?”
“He's off for Vienna, and a short trip to Hungary. I met him at dinner at the mess while waiting for the Dover packet. By the way, I saw a friend of your Excellency's,—Harcourt.”
“Not gone to India?”