"I beg your pardon, Mr.—er—Coombe, 'pon my soul, I don't recall the pleasure." Very insolently his lordship looked Mr. Coombe up and down and Mr. Coombe turned red; the joke was not so good as he had thought it would be.
"Langworthy," he said, "you remember Langworthy's business, my Lord?"
"Langworthy, really did I meet you at Hansbar, my friend, Sir George Langworthy's house? I haven't been there, let me see, for three years, and the last time——"
"No, it wasn't there neither," said Coombe angrily. "It was in my City Office I met your lordship and it wasn't Sir George Langworthy, it was quite a different Langworthy."
"Indeed?" said his lordship politely, "indeed?"
Mr. Coombe's hot hand dropped to his side.
"I don't recall your face, 'pon my soul I am afraid I don't. But one sees so many faces, hey? And now—my dear Homewood, tell me all about the wonderful things you have been doing here." And his lordship turned his back on Mr. Coombe with marked deliberation.
Coombe clenched his fists.
"Supercilious beast!" he muttered. "I'll teach him, I ain't done with him yet, not by a long sight, I haven't. You wait, Jobson——"
But Jobson turned and stared out into the garden through the window. He was losing faith in the ability of Coombe to make Peers of the Realm feel unhappy.