“Yes,” said Hugh, really perturbed, “it is important—rather. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back.”
[p131]
The coachman sulkily brought his horses round; the “ant business” had kept him waiting at “Tenby” gate nearly half an hour, and he had a strong objection to arriving at hotels when the dinner hour was long past and the cook, pettish at having to set to work again, quite callous about what she set before him.
But at the critical moment Larkin appeared—Larkin who had a perfect genius for appearing on the spot when he was wanted.
“Hello! here’s Middlecut to the rescue,” Hugh cried, hailing him with a shout. “Hi, young man, can you go off on a message for me?”
Larkin grinned and nodded assent. He had no notion why the book gentleman always gave him this name of Middlecut, but he had also no objection. Any gentleman who made his commission advance by leaps and bounds, as this one had done, was at liberty to call him any name that came handy.
Hugh had his fountain-pen, but no further vehicle for his message; none of the ladies could help him with as much as a visiting card—what help in emergencies can be expected from pocketless persons?
Larkin came to the rescue with the eternal card of Octavius Smith and his bacon at elevenpence.
[p132] “Dear Madam” (wrote Hugh upon the back of this choice stationery), “kindly burn any nonsense I may have said to you yesterday. On my return in a week I will see what I can do to give you better information. I was on my way to tell you this when Muffie’s engaging adventure drove it out of my head. Pray excuse this card—necessity knows no etiquette.
“Yours,
“Hugh Kinross.”