"Very good, my lord," said Anthony.
To receive this commission, he had been summoned from the drawing-room, whose floor he was engaged in leathering to the requisite degree of lustre. He had had to remove an apron, turn down his sleeves, and put on his plum-coloured coat. So soon as his lordship, who was yet at breakfast, released him, he would reverse the procedure and return to his floor.
Lord Pomfret peered muttering into his cigarette case. Then he plucked out a ten-shilling note and flicked it across the tablecloth.
"That's all I appear to have," he said sulkily. "I'll have to owe you the thirty shillings."
Anthony braced himself.
"I'm afraid I haven't any money at all, my lord."
The other looked up sharply.
"What? … Oh, nonsense, Lyveden."
Anthony said nothing. He was not anxious to repeat the lie, but he was determined not to lend to Lord Pomfret. That the loan would lose itself was much too probable, and the construction of his slender resources would not stand such a strain.
"Of course you've got thirty shillings. But you don't like parting." Lord Pomfret laughed rather nastily. "I'll pay you back, man, if that's your trouble."