“Oh well, of course, he should not have broken in on the table as he did,” admitted Alvanley. “But he’s very young, after all, and quite a nice boy, from what I have seen.”
“Quite,” said Worth. “He will be still nicer when he has been snubbed a few more tunes. George, you might attend to it.”
Mr. Brummell shook his head. “My dear Worth, you really cannot expect me to do any more for your ward. Why, I once gave him my arm all the way here from White’s!”
“Ah, perhaps that may account for his presumption,” said Worth. “You had better have given him one of your cuts.”
“But I thought you wanted me to do what I could to bring him into fashion,” said the Beau plaintively.
Whether from a natural impatience, or from a fear of once more missing his guardian, Peregrine was in Cavendish Square by half-past ten next morning, only to be informed that his lordship was dressing. He had nothing to do, therefore, but to kick his heels in the saloon for half an hour, skim through the newspaper, and silently rehearse all he meant presently to say.
At eleven o’clock the footman came back, and informed him that his lordship would receive him. He followed the man up the broad stairway, and was ushered into the Earl’s bedroom. This was a large apartment with a canopy bed occupying the whole of one wall. It was an extremely fine piece, supported by two bronze gryphons, and with crimson silk hangings caught up by a pair of smaller gryphons on pedestals. A fifth gryphon surmounted the canopy with its wings spread ready for flight, and all the hangings depending apparently from its claws. Peregrine was so much struck by the splendour of this edifice that for some moments he could only stand and gaze at it.
The Earl, who was seated before a mahogany dressing-table with the drawer pulled out and the top pushed back to disclose a central mirror, cast him a fleeting glance, and went on attending to his toilet.
Peregrine, having taken in the bed in all its details, looked round for his guardian, and, perceiving him, blinked a little at the elegance of the brocade dressing-gown he was wearing, and wished that he could achieve the exquisite disorder of his lordship’s black locks. These were brushed into a style which Peregrine at once recognized as being au coup de vent. He himself had wasted half an hour in trying to arrange his own yellow curls in the same manner, and had had to be content in the end with a cherubim style.
“Good morning, Peregrine. You choose a very early hour for your calls,” said the Earl, “You need not wait, Foster. Stay, hand me the packet you will find on the table. Thank you; you may go.”