«Not for Lady Swaffham's, my lord. Besides, your lordship forgets the man that ran against you with a milk can at Salisbury.»
And Mr. Bunter laid an accusing finger on a slight stain of grease showing across the light cloth.
«I wish to God I'd never let you grow into a privileged family retainer, Bunter,» said Lord Peter, bitterly, dashing his walking-stick into the umbrella-stand. «You've no conception of the mistakes my mother may be making.»
Mr. Bunter smiled grimly and led his victim away.
When an immaculate Lord Peter was ushered, rather late for lunch, into Lady Swaffham's drawing-room, the Dowager Duchess of Denver was seated on a sofa, plunged in intimate conversation with Mr. John P. Milligan of Chicago.
«I'm vurry pleased to meet you, Duchess,» had been that financier's opening remark, «to thank you for your exceedingly kind invitation. I assure you it's a compliment I deeply appreciate.»
The Duchess beamed at him, while conducting a rapid rally of all her intellectual forces.
«Do come and sit down and talk to me, Mr. Milligan,» she said. «I do so love talking to you great business men — let me see, is it a railway king you are or something about puss-in-the-corner — at least, I don't mean that exactly, but that game one used to play with cards, all about wheat and oats, and there was a bull and a bear, too — or was it a horse? — no, a bear, because I remember one always had to try and get rid of it and it used to get so dreadfully crumpled and torn, poor thing, always being handed about, one got to recognize it, and then one had to buy a new pack — so foolish it must seem to you, knowing the real thing, and dreadfully noisy, but really excellent for breaking the ice with rather stiff people who didn't know each other — I'm quite sorry it's gone out.»
Mr. Milligan sat down.
«Well, now,» he said, «I guess it's as interesting for us business men to meet British aristocrats as it is for Britishers to meet American railway kings, Duchess. And I guess I'll make as many mistakes talking your kind of talk as you would make if you were tryin' to run a corner in wheat in Chicago. Fancy now, I called that fine lad of yours Lord Wimsey the other day, and he thought I'd mistaken him for his brother. That made me feel rather green.»