"There's one thing I won't forgive you," interrupted the Secretary, "and that is keeping me a moment longer from my lunch, for I'm ravenously hungry. I just want to send a telegram to Kent-Lauriston, asking him to meet me at the club this afternoon, and then I'll be with you."
Once they were settled at the table and the orders given, their conversation turned to general subjects.
"I suppose we'll all meet at the end of the week in Sussex," said the Lieutenant.
"Yes," replied Stanley, "at Mrs. Roberts'."
"Is it to be a large party?"
"I don't imagine so. Sort of house-warming. They've just inherited the estate. Belle Fitzgerald, you and I, and the Port Arthurs— I don't know who else."
"That reminds me," exclaimed Kingsland, "I must hurry through lunch. I promised the Marchioness I'd do a picture exhibition with her Ladyship at three, and it's nearly two, now."
"Under orders as usual, I see," said his host, and the Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and looked sheepish. He was weak, impecunious, handsome and dashing, and rumour said just a bit wild, and, moreover, was known throughout the social world of London as the tame cat of the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur; a very distant relative of his, and as the especially privileged companion of her only daughter, Lady Isabelle McLane, on the tacit understanding that he would never so far forget himself as to aspire to that daughter's hand.
"I say," remarked that officer, who did not relish the turn which the conversation had taken, "tell me something about your country."
"Do you desire a complete geographical and political disquisition?" asked the Secretary, laughing.