Dick Millet pleaded; the invitation was not withdrawn; and the little fellow was better satisfied with himself than he had felt for months.
“It’s an uncommonly well got-up affair, after all,” he thought; “but I wish the ladies would go now. I want to get the wine over, and go up to the drawing-room.”
To the little fellow’s satisfaction the long-drawn-out repast did come to an end, that cleverly-managed signal was given which acts electrically at a certain stage of a dinner; the ladies rose, and in place of one of the younger gentlemen opening the door, Lord Henry performed that duty, a genial but half-sad smile playing about his thin, closely-shaven lips, as Marie looked up in his face in passing. Then the last lady went out, and the gentlemen closed up to their coffee and wine.
Somehow or other, Marcus Glen found himself now near Lord Henry, and while a knot of listeners heard Mr Elbraham’s opinion upon the Eastern Question, especially with regard to the new Sultan and the position of Egypt, the young officer entered into a quiet discussion upon the history of the old Palace, and was surprised and pleased to find how much his companion knew of the past days of the old red-brick building, but above all at the genial, winning manner the old gentleman possessed.
Acting the part of host now for the time being, he soon proposed that they should adjourn, for there was a strange longing within him to be within sight and hearing of Marie.
“Ah, to be sure,” said Elbraham; “if I wanted to invest, gentlemen, I should say Egyptian bonds. By all means, let’s join the ladies.”
He, too, had come to the conclusion that he should like “another talk to that girl.” But the drawing-room was filling fast, and there were no more tête-à-têtes. Arthur Litton arrived soon after ten, and his chief approached him to shake hands, as if they had not met for some time.
“Well?” said Litton.
“Stunning, sir, stunning! ’Bove par.”
“Oh!”