"That is very encouraging," was Lashmar's reply. "If only one's thoughts can be of any help to others—"
"What time is it?" broke in Lady Ogram. "Why doesn't that man come? What business has he to keep us waiting?"
"It's only just half-past one," said Miss Bride.
"Then he ought to be here." She turned to Lashmar. "I'm expecting a friend you've heard of—Sir William Amys. How long are we to sit here waiting for him, I wonder?"
"What do you think of Herbert Spencer, Mr. Lashmar?" inquired May.
Dyce's reply was rendered doubly unnecessary by the opening of the door, and the announcement of the awaited guest.
"Willy! Willy!" cried Lady Ogram, with indulgent reproof. "You always used to be so punctual."
The gentleman thus familiarly addressed had grey hair and walked with a stoop in the shoulders. His age was sixty, but he looked rather older. Lady Ogram, who had known him as a boy, still saw him in that light. His pleasant face, full of sagacity and good-humour, wore a gently deprecating smile as he stepped forward, and whether intentionally or not—he smoothed with one hand his long, grizzled beard.
"This is military!" he exclaimed. "Are not a few minutes' grace granted to a man of peace, when he comes to eat your salt?—And how are you, my dear lady? How are you?"
"Never was better in my life, Willy!" shrilled Lady Ogram, her voice slipping out of control in her excitement. "Do you know who this is?"