"Who is that old parchment face and the eyeglass?" asked the younger man, whose bleached eyes and moustache betokened foreign service.
"Which?"
"Coming in now; looks as if he had seen a thing or two. There—he is talking to one of the Arden twins."
"That man? That is Lord Frederick Fane, an old reprobate. See, he has buttonholed Hemsworth. I should like to hear what he is saying to him. Look how his eye twinkles. He is one of our instructors of youth."
"Hemsworth has been standing there for the last half-hour."
"He is waiting; anybody can see that. So am I, though not for the same person."
"Whom are you looking out for?"
"Do you see that dark man with the high nose, talking to the Post Office? There—the Duchess of Southark has just spoken to him, and is introducing her daughter."
"Do you mean that ugly beggar with the clean-shaved face and heavy jaw?"
"I don't see that he is so ugly. He has got a head on his shoulders, and his face means something, which is more than you can say of many. There is no lack of ability there. He is one of the men of the future, and people are beginning to find it out. He has not taken any line in politics yet, but he is bound to soon. Both sides want him, of course. He is one of our most promising Commoners, Tempest of Overleigh."