the question, deferentially.

"Oh! Oh--no," replied Thorpe. "No--I'll get along all right."

Left to himself, he began hurriedly the task of shaving
and dressing. The candles on either side of the thick,
bevelled swinging mirror presented a somewhat embarrassing
contrast to the electric light he was used to--but upon second
thought he preferred this restrained aristocratic glimmer.

He had completed his toilet, and was standing at the
bay-window, with his shoulder holding back the edge
of the curtain, looking out upon the darkened lawn and
wondering whether he ought to go downstairs or wait for
someone to summon him, when he heard a knock at his door.
Before he could answer, the door opened, and he made
out in the candle-and firelight that it was Lord Plowden
who had come in. He stepped forward to meet his host who,
clad now in evening-clothes, was smoking a cigarette.

"Have they looked after you all right?" said Plowden,
nonchalantly. "Have a cigarette before we go down? Light
it by the candle. They never will keep matches in a bedroom."

He seated himself in an easy-chair before the fire,
as he spoke, and stretched out his shining slippers
toward the grate. "I thought I'd tell you before we went
down"--he went on, as Thorpe, with an elbow on the mantel,
looked down at his handsome head--"my sister has a couple
of ladies visiting her. One of them I think you know.