[11] The phrase is borrowed from the writings of J. Milton (1608-1674). (Lit. Exec.)
“For you, sir,” he gasped to Gaveston, who looked up with that indefinable air of one long bred to face the adulations of the public. The fellow held the table-top mirror-wise to the young man.
What was his delight to see pencilled upon it three altogether admirable drawings of himself, profile, full-face and abstract, and signed each, with a few words of homage, by an artist whose slightest brushstroke was law. A simple, but touching, tribute.
“More here, sir,” said another waiter, who bore manfully an even larger marble slab.
Gaveston leaned forward. Yes, it was gratifying. Two poems were pencilled upon it, addressed to the beautiful stranger in the midst, a ballade by a poet whose name had been on every lip full thirty years agone, the other a vers libre, by one whose fame and fortune are safe for full thirty years to come.
Turning, Gaveston smiled and waved a kindly gesture of gratitude to his admirers, and calmly stirred his coffee. The waiter bore off his precious burdens to the cloak-room.
“You must have them packed up and sent down to Lady Penhaligon,” laughed Monty.
Du Val started.
“Lady Penhaligon!” he cried hoarsely, “Lady Penhaligon? And what may she be to you, sir?”