"Glad to see you; sit down," he said in the same quiet, languid, forceful tone I had heard before.
It was all very odd. The guards were gone; we were apparently as free as any of them.
"I shall try to make you comfortable," he remarked. A servant began filling a row of glasses. "We have here wine and wit and all the accessories, including women. I should introduce you, but I have not the honor of your acquaintance. Let it suffice to say these are my friends" (he turned to those who sat about), "and, gentlemen, these are my enemies," he added, turning to us. "Let us hope they may die happy."
"And with a fighting chance," I added, lifting the glass without tasting it.
D'ri sat, his brows lifted, his hands in his pockets, his legs crossed. He looked curiously from one to another.
"Horton," said his Lordship, as he sat down, leaning lazily on the arm of his chair, "will you have them bring down the prisoners?"
The servant left the room. Some of the men were talking together in low tones; they were mostly good-looking and well dressed.
"Gentlemen," said his Lordship, rising suddenly, "I'm going to turn you out of here for a moment—they're a shy lot. Won't you go into the library?"
They all rose and went out of a door save one, a bald man of middle age, half tipsy, who begged of his "Ludship" the privilege of remaining.
"Sir Charles," said the young man, still lounging in his chair as he spoke, in that cold, calm tone of his, "you annoy me. Go at once!" and he went.