His wish was realised. She was not only en dishabille, but in bed—with a sick headache! She begged that the baronet would excuse her from making appearance!
This was the report brought back from the bedroom by her go-between of a husband. It remained only for the visitor to make good his promise about the letter of introduction.
He drew up to the table, and wrote it out, currente calamo.
He did not follow the usual fashion, by leaving the envelope open. There was a clause or two in the letter he did not desire the ex-guardsman to become acquainted with. It concluded with the words: “Mr Swinton is a gentleman who would suit for any service your lordship may be pleased to obtain for him. He is a disappointed man...”
Wetting the gum with the tip of his aristocratic tongue, he closed the envelope, and handed the epistle to his host.
“I know,” said he, “Lord A— will be glad to serve you. You might see him at the Foreign Office; but don’t go there. There are too many fellaws hanging about, who had better not know what you’re after. Take it to his lordship’s private residence in Park Lane. In a case like yours, I know he’d prefer receiving you there. You had better go at once. There are so many chances of your being forestalled—a host of applicants hungering for something of the same. His lordship is likely to be at home about three in the afternoon. I’ll call here soon after to learn how you’ve prospered. Bye, my dear fellaw! good-bye!”
Re-gloving his slender aristocratic fingers, the baronet withdrew—leaving the ex-guardsman in possession of an epistle that might have much influence on his future fate.