The door opened, and Eustace Lovegood strode tragically into the room, the old black cloak swinging at his back.
Pangbutt turned: “O lord!” he growled into his beard, “another of the failures!”
He eyed Lovegood cynically until he halted; and, seeing that he would have to speak, he said:
“You asked to see me, Mr. Lovegood.”
Lovegood put his heels together and bowed.
Pangbutt had to speak again.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asked.
Eustace Lovegood strode up to him, put his strong hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the face:
“Nothing,” he said in his deep bass—“nothing ... except to remember that we were once friends.”
Pangbutt, in spite of a biting desire to play the swaggering lord, at once took the defensive. This man made him feel diffident even on his own elaborate carpet.