“The Lord forgive me, sir!”
“Possibly He will, Richards.”
“I didn’t know you, Mr. John, sir, you’re so brown—and—”
“Shabby, Richards; say it, and have done. Is my lord in town?”
“Oh yes, sir. Won’t you come in and dine? There is a good joint of roast, Mr. John, sir, and a barrel of oysters. My lord is at Lady Purcell’s in Pall Mall.”
“Lady Anne Purcell’s?”
“Yes, Mr. John.”
He turned and walked down the steps, the footman marvelling at his effrontery in wearing such dastardly clothes.
“Take the boy in, Richards.”
Richards and Master Sparkin regarded each other suspiciously.