Kent-Lauriston was prompt to his appointment, and it took but a few moments to establish the Secretary and himself in a private room with a plentiful supply of cigarettes, and two whiskeys and sodas.
Stanley was nervous and showed it. Kent-Lauriston adjusted his monocle, tugged at his long sandy moustache, and surveyed his companion from head to foot.
"Not feeling fit?" he queried. "Suffering from political ennui?"
"Oh, my health is all right, as far as that goes——"
"Yes, I see," this last remark meditatively. Then he added. "Some deuced little scrape?"
Stanley nodded.
"Woman?"
"It concerns a lady—perhaps two."
Kent-Lauriston frowned, and tugged his moustache a trifle harder, to imply that he now understood the affair to be of a more complex order, requiring the aid of skilful diplomacy, in place of the simple directness of five-pound notes.
"Want my advice, I suppose?"