Katerfelto: A Story of Exmoor

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

So Lord Bellinger, taking his friend's advice, mounted gravely into his chair, and caused himself to be set down without delay at the minister's official residence, where he found the great man holding a levee, composed of the many who came to ask for something, and the few who returned to give thanks.

It chafed his lordship in no slight degree to be kept waiting in the ante-room, while meaner men, not half so well-dressed, were admitted to the presence of the minister. His own equals in rank and position nodded to him as they passed in and out, but their greetings at such a time were necessarily short and formal, so that he was unable to gather from their manner how widely his failure had become known, or how deeply he was supposed to be disgraced. It was not till the mayor of a country town, a doctor of divinity, and a poor author who had helped to line many a trunk, were admitted before him, that his patience utterly failed. He was in the act of desiring his chair to be called, when a grave man, addressing him in broad Scotch, held open the door of the inner chamber, with an austere bow.

There were some half-score persons present, bearing the proudest names, holding the highest offices in the country. Lord Bellinger's quick eye did not fail to mark how each looked eagerly from the new-comer to the minister, as though to observe the nature of his reception.

More erect than usual, for his blood was up, but with the graceful bearing that never deserted him, his lordship stepped across the room and made a low bow, almost defiant in the excess of courtesy which it seemed to affect. The minister, who was engaged with a paper in his hand, did not return the salutation for more than a minute. Lord Bellinger ground his teeth, and the bystanders glanced in each other's faces.

Presently the great man raised his head, stared coldly at his visitor, and returned his obeisance without a word.

The bystanders breathed freely; there was no more doubt, then, of their chief's displeasure, and they believed the interest of the scene was past. But, as they told each other afterwards, "Bellinger was a very awkward fellow to set down!"

"My lord," said he, "I have waited on your lordship in self-defence."

"My lord," was the answer, "your lordship's explanations must be made in public, and reserved for another place."

Then the minister turned on him a broad, ungainly back; and he knew that in the Game of Brag, concerning which Harry St. Leger spoke so hopefully, he had come off second best.

But he did not fail to keep his appointment at the Cocoa Tree, arriving there, indeed, somewhat earlier than the hour agreed on, and with an appetite no whit impaired by the contrarieties he had experienced. "It's the country air, I suppose," he observed lightly to his friend. "'Faith, Harry, should I be forced to retire into the country altogether it won't break my heart, if I'm always to be as hungry as now. Waiter! what can we have for supper?"