"Well, my coat, Perry—how is it behind?"
"Admirable!"
"Feels like a sack, demmit! My Loveliness has the eye of a hawk, you'll understand—hasn't seen me for a whole month—nothing like first impressions, begad. Feels like an accursed sack, I tell you—"
"Gentlemen, the carriage awaits!" murmured Clegg from the doorway.
"What—already?" cried Anthony, clapping on his hat and reaching for his surtout.
"You forget we're Lord Wyvelstoke's privileged guests.—Come,
Anthony!" and I led the way down to the carriage.
"Ain't you nervous, Perry?" enquired my friend, as we rolled smoothly away.
"No."
"Queer fish—I am!" said he, fidgeting with his cravat.
"You're deuced cool, devilish serene and enigmatical at times, like your uncle Jervas."