On the following afternoon, when he was at the Quinta talking as usual to Mrs. Carr, he saw Lord Minster coming up the steps of the portico, dressed in much the same way and with exactly the same air as he was accustomed to assume when he mounted those of the “Reform,” or occasionally, if he thought that the “hungry electors” wanted “pandering” to, those of the new “National Club.”
“Hullo,” said Arthur, “here comes Lord Minster in his war paint, frock coat, tall hat, eye-glass and all. Good-bye.”
“Why do you go away, Arthur? Stop and protect me,” said Mildred, laughing.
“Oh, no, indeed, I don’t want to spoil sport. I would not interfere with your amusement on any account.”
Mildred looked a little vexed.
“Well, you will come back to dinner?”
“That depends upon what happens.”
“I told you what would happen, Arthur. Good-bye.”
“Perhaps it is as well to get it over at once,” thought Mildred.
In the hall Arthur met Lord Minster, and they passed with a gesture of recognition so infinitesimally small that it almost faded into the nothingness of a “cut.” So far as he could condescend to notice so low a thing at all, his lordship had conceived a great dislike for Arthur.