"Yes, sir. James is gone to you but quarter of an hour since with a message, sir."
I was puzzled.
"And Miss Manners? Is she well?"
The man smiled.
"Very well, sir, thank your honour."
To add to my surprise, Mr. Marmaduke was pacing the drawing-room in a yellow night-gown. He met me with an expression I failed to fathom, and then my eye was held by a letter in his hand. He cleared his throat.
"Good morning, Richard," said he, very serious,—very pompous, I thought. "I am pleased to see that you are so well out of the deplorable affair of last night."
I had not looked for gratitude. In truth, I had done nothing for him, and Chartersea might have exposed him a highwayman for all I cared,—I had fought for Dolly. But this attitude astonished me. I was about to make a tart reply, and then thought better of it.
"Walter, a decanter of wine for Mr. Carvel," says he to the footman.
Then to me: "I am rejoiced to hear that Lord Comyn is out of danger."
I merely stared at him.