I told Halfred of his mistake.
“Well, sir,” he said, “I takes your word, sir.”
“Good young man,” said the Marquis, turning to him with his finest courtesy. “I forgive. I admire. You have right. Many have I love, but your mistress is not admired of me. She is preserve! Good-night, young man; good-night, monsieur.”
And off he marched as briskly as ever.
Halfred shook his head darkly.
“Him being a friend of yours, sir, I says nothing,” he observed, but his abstinence from further comment was more eloquent than even his candid opinion would have been.
I posted my letter, I smoked, I read a book to pass the time, and at last, as the afternoon was wearing on, I went to my bedroom and packed a bag containing a change of clothes and other essentials, for I remembered that I should have to drive straight from the dinner-table to the train. I looked out into the street; dusk was falling, the lamps were lit, the lights of a carriage and the rattle of horses passed now and then, the steady hum of London reached my ears. It was still cheerful and inviting, but now my nerves were tighter strung and I felt rather excitement than depression.
“Monsieur! You in there?”
The voice came from my sitting-room. I started, I rushed towards the welcome sound, and the next moment I was embracing Dick Shafthead. He looked so uncomfortable at this un-English salutation that I had to begin with an apology.
“Never before and never again, I assure you!” I said. “For the instant I forgot myself; that is the truth. Tell me, what good angel has sent you?”