"Then link hands for 'Auld Lang Syne,'" added Lady Loring.
At that moment I received a disconcerting kick and looked up to find Jim gazing at the end of the table where his father was seated. I followed the direction of his eyes, saw the waiter raise his head and take the wine-list, and as he did so I caught a glimpse of his face.
In a claret-coloured livery coat, black knee-breeches and white stockings stood David O'Rane. Our eyes met, but he gave no sign of recognition and a moment later he had hurried away with an obsequious "Very good, my lord."
As we waited for our coats an hour or two later, Jim whispered, "I'm going to tell the Guv'nor. It's hardly decent, you know. A Meltonian assing about like that. The Guv'nor must get him out of it." He turned to his father. "I say, dad, did you particularly notice our waiter?"
"Yes. Rather a capable youngster, I thought."
"Well, he's ... he's...." Jim stammered unwontedly and seemed suddenly to repent his purpose.
"What about him?" asked Lord Loring.
"Oh, nothing. He comes from Melton, that's all."
"From the 'Raven'?"