For a time he was left alone, the footman, who officiated, having gone off with his card.
Around him were costly decorations—objects of vertu and luxe—duplicated in plate-glass mirrors over the mantel, and along the sides of the room, extending from floor to ceiling.
But Mr Swinton looked not at the luxurious chattels, nor into the mirrors that reflected them.
On the moment of his being left to himself, he glided toward one of the windows, and directed his glance into the street.
“It will do,” he muttered to himself, with a satisfied air. “Just in the right spot, and Fan—isn’t she the thing for it? By Jove! she shows well. Never saw her look better in her life. If his lordship be the sort he’s got the name of being, I ought to get an appointment out of him. Sweet Fan! I’ve made five pounds out of you this morning. You’re worth your weight in gold, or its equivalent. Hold up your head, my chick! and show that pretty face of yours to the window! You’re about to be examined, and as I’ve heard, by a connoisseur. Ha! ha! ha!” The apostrophe was soliloquised, Fan was too far off to hear him.
The chuckling laugh that followed was interrupted by the re-entrance of the footman, who announced in ceremonial strain: “His lordship will see you in the library.” The announcement produced on his lordship’s visitor the effect of a cold-water douche. His gaiety forsook him with the suddenness of a “shot.”
Nor did it return when he discovered the library to be a somewhat sombre apartment, its walls bedecked with books, and the windows looking into a courtyard at the back. He had anticipated an interview in the drawing-room that commanded a view of the street.
It was a disappointment to be regretted, and, combined with the quiet gloom of the chamber into which he had been ushered, argued ill for the success of his application.
“Your business, sir?” demanded the august personage into whose presence he had penetrated. The demand was not made in a tone of either rudeness or austerity. Lord — was noted for a suavity of manners, that, in the eyes of the uninitiated, gave him a character for benevolence! In answer to it, the ex-guardsman presented his letter of introduction. He could do no more, and stood awaiting the result.
But he reflected how different this might be if the interview had been taking place in the drawing-room, instead of that dismal repository of books.