Here, however, his thoughts were recalled to the case of the Purple Emperor with a little jerk, for the butler, having ushered them into the hall, said:
"Begging pardon, your ladyship, but there is a gentleman awaitin'."
Lady Brenton turned with a frown puckering her smooth brows.
"If it is a reporter, I will not see him!" she said, with a decisive wave of her hand. "You know that, Graves, very well. I told you yesterday not to admit strangers under any pretext."
"Beggin' pardon, my lady, but it is not a stranger. It is the Indian gentleman, Gunga Dall," responded Graves with a reproachful look at his mistress for ever having doubted him. "He was most anxious to see your ladyship and is waiting in the drawing room."
The exclamation that broke from his mistress's lips upon receipt of this statement was one of mingled relief and pleasure but a deep frown gathered on her son's face.
"That nigger here again, Mater? I can't think how you can bear him about you," he said, irritably. "I should have thought you had had enough of them out in India."
Lady Brenton's face showed signs of evident displeasure.
"Gunga Dall is not a 'nigger,' Edgar. How can you say such a wicked thing!" she expostulated, angrily. "He is a most charming man, and the only one who has ever cured my headaches for me. I haven't had such a night's rest for years as I had last night."
Cleek's eyes were quick enough to note the expression on Sir Edgar's face as Lady Brenton turned to lead the way. It showed such open-mouthed, intense incredulity that he could not resist a little smile on its behalf, nevertheless, as he followed his host and hostess into the room where awaited with Eastern patience the Hindoo whom Sir Edgar had so contemptuously designated "nigger."