"He is in town?" Richard released his horse. "I want to see him. Where
is he?"

The young man looked pleasant: that which might have aroused Brayder's
suspicions was an old affair in parasitical register by this time. "Want
to see him? What about?" he said carelessly, and gave the address.

"By the way," he sang out, "we thought of putting your name down,
Feverel." He indicated the lofty structure. "What do you say?"

Richard nodded back at him, crying, "Hurry." Brayder returned the nod,
and those who promenaded the district soon beheld his body in elegant
motion to the stepping of his well-earned horse.

"What do you want to see Lord Mountfalcon for, Richard?" said Ripton.

"I just want to see him," Richard replied.

Ripton was left in the cab at the door of my lord's residence. He had to
wait there a space of about ten minutes, when Richard returned with a
clearer visage, though somewhat heated. He stood outside the cab, and
Ripton was conscious of being examined by those strong grey eyes. As
clear as speech he understood them to say to him, "You won't do," but
which of the many things on earth he would not do for he was at a loss to
think.

"Go down to Raynham, Ripton. Say I shall be there tonight certainly.
Don't bother me with questions. Drive off at once. Or wait. Get another
cab. I'll take this."