The Marquis made no immediate reply. He watched the lighting of a huge lamp which Gossett silently placed in the middle of an ebony black writing table, to the side of which he had already drawn up two high-backed chairs.
"Is there anything else your lordship desires?" the man asked.
"Not at present, Gossett. I will ring."
The Marquis pointed towards one of the chairs, and seated himself in the other.
"I shall be very glad to hear of your business with me, Mr. Borden," he said courteously.
His visitor had lost none of his embarrassment. The Marquis, in his old-fashioned dinner clothes, his black stock, the fob which hung from his waistcoat, his finely chiselled features, and that mysterious air of being entirely in touch with his surroundings, had him at a disadvantage from the first. Borden was wearing the somewhat shabby blue serge suit in which he had travelled all day, and which he had neglected to brush. He had been too much in earnest about his mission to do more than make the most hasty toilet at the hotel. The high-backed chair, which suited the Marquis so well, was an unfamiliar article of furniture to him, and he sat upon it stiffly and without ease. Nevertheless, he reminded himself that he was there—he must say what he had come to say.
"I am venturing to address you, Lord Mandeleys," he began, "upon a personal subject."
The Marquis raised his eyebrows gently. It was perhaps a suggestion of surprise that a personal subject should exist, lending itself to discussion between him and this visitor.
"And before I go any further," the latter continued, "I want to make it clear that I am here at my own initiative only—that the other person interested is entirely ignorant of my visit."
Mr. Borden paused, and the Marquis made no sign whatever. He was sitting quite upright in his chair, the fingers of his right hand toying lazily with an ancient paper knife, fashioned of yellow ivory.