"Who has not?" asked Grant, and bowed to the worthy old baronet,
eyeing him with some curiosity. He was hot and heavy in his
momentary anger, but even that could not conceal the noble though
opulent outline of his face and body, the florid white hair, the
Roman nose, the body stalwart though corpulent, the chin
aristocratic though double. He was a magnificent courtly gentleman;
so much of a gentleman that he could show an unquestionable
weakness of anger without altogether losing dignity; so much of a
gentleman that even his faux pas were well-bred.

"I am distressed beyond expression, Beaumont," he said gruffly,
"to fail in respect to these gentlemen, and even more especially
to fail in it in your house. But it is not you or they that are
in any way concerned, but that flashy half-caste jackanapes--"

At this moment a young man with a twist of red moustache and a
sombre air came out of the inner room. He also did not seem to be
greatly enjoying the intellectual banquet within.

"I think you remember my friend and secretary, Mr Drummond," said
Lord Beaumont, turning to Grant, "even if you only remember him as
a schoolboy."

"Perfectly," said the other. Mr Drummond shook hands pleasantly
and respectfully, but the cloud was still on his brow. Turning to
Sir Walter Cholmondeliegh, he said:

"I was sent by Lady Beaumont to express her hope that you were not
going yet, Sir Walter. She says she has scarcely seen anything of
you."