“My dear fellow, I breakfasted at eight.”
“Never mind; have an eleven’s. Mouthful of corn then never hurt anyone. A chair here, Mark. That will do, my man.”
Mark backed out, with the half-grin, which had sprung up on seeing his master’s animation, dying out, and shaking his head, while the visitor turned the chair placed for him back to the table and bestrode it as if it were a horse.
“Whatever brings you down into this dismal region?”
“Dismal, eh?” said the visitor, glancing round, and then out of the window. “Races.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the baronet. “Yes; I heard they were to-day.”
“You heard? Aren’t you coming?”
“No, no. I’ve dropped all that sort of thing now.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot; and my manners, too. How is her ladyship?”
“Oh, well—very well, Jack,” said Sir Hilton, in a mournful way.