“And this gentleman downstairs, sir?” said he.
“Ah, yes.” Pangbutt glanced at the card in his fingers:
“Eustace Lovegood!” he murmured in surprise. “H’m—he sends up his card—evidently all goes well with Eustace Lovegood!”
He turned to Dukes:
“All right—show him up.”
The old servant vanished, the door stealthily closing after him.
Pangbutt’s face was scarred with a self-satisfied smirk: “They find me in rather altered circumstances.”
There was no mistaking the comfort of the reflection.
He was about to stride towards the fireplace and take up a baronial attitude, but put his hands behind his back instead, and stared at the floor, pondering. He tried to rouse his memory: