“Mr. Warlock!” said Lord Mergwain, and spoke with a snarl, “you will not deprive us of the only pleasure we have—that of your company?”
“I shall be back in a few minutes, my lord,” replied his host; and added, “I must see about lunch too.”
“That was wonderful claret!” said his lordship, thoughtfully.
“I shall see to the claret, my lord.”
“If I might suggest, let it be brought here. A gentle airing under my own eye, just an introduction to the fire, would improve what is otherwise perfect.—And look here,” he added, as, with a kindly bow of assent, the laird was going, “—you haven’t got a pack of cards, have you?”
“I believe there is a pack somewhere in the house,” replied the laird, “but it is very old, and I fear too much soiled for your lordship’s hands.”
“Oh, confound the dirt!” said his lordship. “Let us have them. They’re the only thing to make the time pass.”
“Have you a library?” asked Lady Joan—mainly to say something, for she was not particularly fond of books; like most people she had not yet learned to read.
“What do you want with a library?” growled her father. “Books are nothing but a pack of lies, not half so good for killing time as a pack of cards. You’re going to play a rubber, not to read books!”
“With pleasure, papa,” responded Lady Joan.