The Earl pushed aside the backgammon board and the glasses, and leant his elbow on the table. He sat with his back to the door and opposite the shuttered window. He took his chin in his hand and stared at these blank shutters through half-closed eyes. He wore pearl-colour; at his throat was a large buckle of brilliants that sparkled with restless hues; his hair and his dress were tumbled, his face disfigured with a lazy expression of sneering distaste. At the corner of his mouth was the fantastic patch cut into the shape of a bat.
"You should have gone to Kensington to-night," said Cathcart, who was leaning back and smoking. "I'll wager you'll hear of it."
"Why should I have been there?" asked the Earl, without moving his eyes or changing his expression.
"You know, 'twas a Cabinet meeting, or some such foolery. But I am no agent of the Government."
"Why, then, 'tis no matter of yours," said Lord Lyndwood in the same tone.
"But something of yours," answered the other. "Lud, how you throw away your chances! Newcastle said you might have been Chancellor or a Secretary of State by now had you cared. Don't that fire you?" He laughed, then yawned.
"Why should I trouble about their soiled politics?" asked my lord indifferently. "What comes my way I'll see to. But what is this all about? A parcel of niggers on the coast of Coromandel—Coromandel! Good Lord!"
Cathcart laughed again.
"I see you have got in your man."
"My man?"