Chapter XXII
The real Simon Pure proves the worse of the two—I am found guilty, but not condemned; convicted, yet convince; and after having behaved the very contrary to, prove that I am, a gentleman.
On our arrival, we found the table spread, champagne in ice under the sideboard, and apparently everything prepared for a sumptuous dinner, the Major on the sofa giving directions to the waiter, and Timothy looking all astonishment.
"Major," said I, "I cannot tell you how much I am obliged to you for your kindness in taking all this trouble off my hands, that I might follow up the agreeable introduction you have given me to Mr Harcourt."
"My dear Newland, say no more; you will, I dare say, do the same for me if I require it, when I give a dinner. (Harcourt caught my eye, as if to say, "You may safely promise that.") But, Newland, do you know that the nephew of Lord Windermear has just arrived? Did you meet abroad?"
"No," replied I, somewhat confused; but I soon recovered myself. As for Tim, he bolted out of the room. "What sort of a person is he?"
"That you may judge for yourself, my dear fellow, for I asked him to join us, I must say, more out of compliment to Lord Windermear than anything else; for I am afraid that, even I could never make a gentleman of him. But take Harcourt with you to your room, and by the time you have washed your hands, I will have dinner on the table. I took the liberty of desiring your valet to show me in about ten minutes ago. He's a shrewd fellow that of your's—where did you pick him up?"
"By mere accident," replied I; "come, Mr Harcourt."
On our return, we found the real Simon Pure, Mr Estcourt, sitting with the major, who introduced us, and dinner being served, we sat down to table.