“Please—both. In moderation.”
“I say,” interrupted Sidney at this moment, “the Vicomte d'Audierne is following us in a fly. He will be here in five minutes.”
Mrs. Carew nodded. She had not forgotten this guest.
“The Vicomte d'Audierne,” said Mr. Bodery, with considerable interest, turning away from the tea-table, cup in hand. “Is that the man who got out of my train?”
“Yes,” replied Sidney; “do you know him?”
“I have heard of him.” Mr. Bodery turned and took a slice of bread and butter from a plate which Hilda held.
At this moment there was a rumble of carriage wheels.
“By the way,” said the editor of the Beacon, raising his voice so as to command universal attention, “do not tell the Vicomte d'Audierne about Vellacott. Do not let him know that Vellacott has been here. Do not tell him of my connection with the Beacon.”
The ladies barely had time to reconsider their first impression of Mr. Bodery when the door was thrown open, and a servant announced M. d'Audierne.
He who entered immediately afterwards—with an almost indecent haste—was of middle height, with a certain intrepid carriage of the head which appeals to such as take pleasure in the strength and endurance of men. His face, which was clean shaven, was the face of a hawk, with the contracted myope vision characteristic of that bird. It is probable that from the threshold he took in every occupant of the room.