This was not the only evidence afforded by our hero’s conduct that his presence of mind had slightly deserted him. He was soon buried in a deep reverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him, a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered his Grace the very pink of propriety.
‘George, you have eaten no dinner,’ said Mr. Dacre.
‘Thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. Give me some red wine, if you please.’
At length they were left alone.
‘I have some good news for you, George.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I think I have let Rosemount.’
‘So!’
‘And exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will take a pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighbours to feel the want of a landlord. You will never guess: Lord Mildmay!’
‘What did you say of Lord Mildmay, sir?’