"Say that Mr. Ord is here," Gavin instructed the footman, and added: "I am very late, I fear; I was stupid enough to miss the afternoon train."
The footman, shutting the door with a solemn formality, called another to his aid that the dressing case might be safely conveyed to the guest's bedroom.
"'Is lordship was sayin' you wouldn't come, sir. Longish walk by Moretown too. We'd have sent the motor but the 'shuffer' don't like late hours. 'Is lordship is now in the boodore along of the Lady Evelyn. This is Mr. Griggs, the butler, sir——"
Gavin was not particularly interested in the fact; but the butler in question had no intention of being ignored. A fat and pompous man of flat and florid visage, he stood, in majestic pose, at the head of the short flight of stone stairs leading to the boudoir, and his attitude no archbishop could have bettered.
"Mr. Gavin Ord, is it not?" he asked.
Gavin said that it was so.
"We kept dinner back ten minutes, sir—I trust there has not been an accident."
"No accident at all—go and tell the Earl that I am here."
Mr. Griggs looked as though he had been shot.
"James will do that," he retorted loftily—waving his hand as a conductor waves a baton.