consideration in vain.

"Not a word more, Mr. Delamayn!" said the polite old man. "Accept my
excuses for any thing which I may have said too sharply, on my side; and
let us by all means forget the rest."

Having met the advance made to him, in those terms, he paused,
expecting Geoffrey to leave him free to return to the Decameron. To
his unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey suddenly stooped over him, and
whispered in his ear, "I want a word in private with you."

Sir Patrick started back, as if Geoffrey had tried to bite him.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Delamayn--what did you say?"

"Could you give me a word in private?"

Sir Patrick put back the Decameron; and bowed in freezing silence. The
confidence of the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn was the last confidence in
the world into which he desired to be drawn. "This is the secret of the
apology!" he thought. "What can he possibly want with Me?"

"It's about a friend of mine," pursued Geoffrey; leading the way toward
one of the windows. "He's in a scrape, my friend is. And I want to ask
your advice. It's strictly private, you know." There he came to a full
stop--and looked to see what impression he had produced, so far.

Sir Patrick declined, either by word or gesture, to exhibit the
slightest anxiety to hear a word more.