Papers were littered on the table, and his secretary had just carried away a bundle with him. He was alone, because he expected a lady to whom he had promised an audience, but he was not awaiting her with the feelings that he generally brought to such occasions. Cumberland had received the visits of many women alone since leaving England, but his guests were younger than the one whose approach he could now hear in the anteroom outside. He drew his brows together, for he expected no profit and some annoyance from the interview.
He rose as she was ushered in and went to the open fireplace, where he stood awaiting her, drawn up to his full height, which was not great. The huge iron dogs behind him and the high mantel-piece above his head dwarfed him with their large lines. He was not an ill-looking young man, though his hair, pulled back and tied after the fashion of the day, showed off the receding contours that fell away from his temples, and made his blue eyes look more prominent than they were.
He moved forward clumsily as Christian curtsied.
“Come in, madam, come in. Be seated. I have a few minutes only to give you,” he said, pointing to a chair on the farther side of the table.
She sat down opposite to him.
“I had the honour of being presented to your Royal Highness last year,” she said.
“I remember you well, ma’am,” replied he shortly.
“It is in the hope of being remembered that I have come,” said she. “It is to ask you, Sir, to remember the services of my house to yours.”
“I remember them, ma’am; I forget nothing.”
“I am asking you, in remembering, to forget one thing,” said she. “I shall not waste your Royal Highness’s time and mine in beating about bushes. I have travelled here from my home without resting, and it is not for me to delay now.”