“Lord —!”
The name was that of a distinguished nobleman—more distinguished still as a great statesman! Swinton’s proclaiming it caused his company a thrill—the strangers looking incredulous.
They had scarce time to question him before a servant, entering the room, communicated something in a whisper.
“His lordship is it?” said the master, in a muttered tone, just loud enough to reach the ear of Mrs Girdwood. “Show him into the front parlour. Say I shall be down in a second. Ladies and gentlemen?” he continued, turning to his guests, “will yaw excuse me for one moment—only a moment? I have a visitor who cannot well be denied.”
They excused him, of course; and for a time he was gone out of the room.
And of course his guests were curious to know who was the visitor, who “could not well be denied.”
On his return they questioned him; the “countess,” with an imperative earnestness that called for an answer.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said their amiable entertainer, “if yaw insist upon knowing who has been making this vewiy ill-timed call upon me, I suppose I must satisfy yaw kewyosity. I was wight in my conjectyaw. It was Lord —. His lawdship simply dwopped in upon a matter of diplomatic business.”
“Oh! it was Lord —!” exclaimed the Honourable Geraldine.
“Why didn’t you ask him in here? He’s a dear old fellow, as I know; and I’m sure he would have come. Mr Swinton! I’m very angry with you?”