Thorpe's earlier uneasiness quite lost itself in his admiration for Pangbourn's resourceful dexterity. The delighted thought that now he would be needing a man like this for himself crossed his mind. Conceivably he might even get this identical Pangbourn—treasure though he were. Money could command everything on this broad globe—and why not Pangbourn? He tentatively felt of the coins in his pocket, as it became apparent that the man's task was nearing completion—and then frowned at himself for forgetting that these things were always reserved for the end of a visit.
“Will you dress now, sir?” asked Pangbourn. His soft, distinct enunciation conveyed the suggestion of centuries of training.
“Eh?” said Thorpe, finding himself for the moment behind the other's thought.
“Shall you require me any further, sir?” the man reframed the question, deferentially.
“Oh! Oh—no,” replied Thorpe. “No—I'll get along all right.”
Left to himself, he began hurriedly the task of shaving and dressing. The candles on either side of the thick, bevelled swinging mirror presented a somewhat embarrassing contrast to the electric light he was used to—but upon second thought he preferred this restrained aristocratic glimmer.
He had completed his toilet, and was standing at the bay-window, with his shoulder holding back the edge of the curtain, looking out upon the darkened lawn and wondering whether he ought to go downstairs or wait for someone to summon him, when he heard a knock at his door. Before he could answer, the door opened, and he made out in the candle-and firelight that it was Lord Plowden who had come in. He stepped forward to meet his host who, clad now in evening-clothes, was smoking a cigarette.
“Have they looked after you all right?” said Plowden, nonchalantly. “Have a cigarette before we go down? Light it by the candle. They never will keep matches in a bedroom.”
He seated himself in an easy-chair before the fire, as he spoke, and stretched out his shining slippers toward the grate. “I thought I'd tell you before we went down”—he went on, as Thorpe, with an elbow on the mantel, looked down at his handsome head—“my sister has a couple of ladies visiting her. One of them I think you know. Do you remember on shipboard a Miss Madden—an American, you know—very tall and fine, with bright red hair—rather remarkable hair it was?”
“I remember the lady,” said Thorpe, upon reflection, “but we didn't meet.” He could not wholly divest his tone of the hint that in those days it by no means followed that because he saw ladies it was open to him to know them.