"Next door neighbours in Cornwall," Maitland answered. "She married Lord Polruan."
So it was Maitland's sister who had dubbed him an American adventurer and indirectly warned the earl against the danger of having him on such intimate terms! And this unassuming young naval officer was of course a son of an earl, and would rightly be described as the Honourable Willoughby Maitland. Anthony Trent smiled. He could not help thinking how gratified his old housekeeper in Kennebago would be to think he moved in such company.
The two men reached Liverpool Street station at ten o'clock at night and taxied westward to Lord Rosecarrel's town house in Grosvenor Place.
The butler, that stern functionary who disapproved of democracy and the ambitions of the new rich, beamed a welcome when he beheld Anthony Trent. In a sense he felt the young American was one of the family. His greeting to Trent's friend as the son of an earl was respectful, but to Anthony he vouchsafed especial courtesy. It was very grateful to the wanderer. It was like coming home to a man who has no abiding place.
"His Lordship is attending a cabinet meeting," he said. "Her Ladyship is at an Albert Hall concert and Mr. Arthur is out of town."
It was plain from his manner that he expected Anthony Trent to make his quarters in the Rosecarrel town house.
"I must see his lordship instantly," Trent said. "Tell one of your men to whistle for a taxi."
"You seem to be very popular with old Barlow," Maitland said.
"I have spent the happiest hours of my life at Rosecarrel Castle," Anthony Trent said, Maitland thought with some little reserve.
At Downing Street the prime minister's butler could not conceive of such a thing as an interrupted cabinet meeting.