“Of course, but why are you here? Why are you not in Spain?”
“All will be unfolded in good time, my boy. But what about a drink? I could do with one.”
“You know where the things are. Surely you could have helped yourself?” said Farquhar.
“Never care to drink alone, old man. By the way, I see you are in evening togs. Have you been dining with the aristocracy?”
“You’ve just hit it,” replied Farquhar, as he went to the sideboard and fetched out a decanter of whiskey. “I have been dining in Belgrave Square with the Earl of Saxham and his daughter. Lady Mary Rossett.”
“Good heavens, this might be called a coincidence,” cried Moreno, as he drained the refreshing draught offered to him.
Farquhar was rather impatient at any exhibition of humour. He frowned a little.
“Now, Moreno, out with it. What has brought you here? I am delighted to see you, of course, but you have not come all this long journey for nothing.”
But Moreno was still in high spirits that were not to be abruptly quenched.
“What a splendid Lord Chancellor you will make, always with both eyes on the practical, intolerant of anything that disturbs the even course of justice. Perfect embodiment of the legal mind. À votre santé, mon ami!” He drained his glass.