Caranby open his mouth. The old lord was a silent, grave man,
who never uttered an unnecessary word, and it was difficult to
induce him to be confidential. But invariably he had approved
of his nephew's engagement, although he had never seen Juliet,
so it might be that he would speak out--if there was
anything to say--in order to remove any impediment to the
match. It depended upon what information he received as to
how Mallow would act.

At half-past eight he drove to the Avon Hotel and was shown up
at once to his uncle's sitting-room. That he should live in
an hotel was another of Caranby's eccentricities. He had a
house in town and three in the country, yet for years he had
lived--as the saying is--on his portmanteau. Even the
villa at Nice he owned was unoccupied by this strange
nobleman, and was usually let to rich Americans. When in
England he stopped at the Avon Hotel and when in the country
remained at any inn of the neighborhood in which he might
chance to find himself wandering. And wandering is an
excellent word to apply to Lord Caranby's peregrinations. He
was as restless as a gipsy and far more aimless. He never
appeared to take an interest in anything: he was always moving
here, there and everywhere, and had--so far as Cuthbert knew--
no object in life. His reason for this Cainlike behavior,
Caranby never condescended to explain.

When his nephew entered the room, looking smart and handsome
in his accurate evening suit, Caranby, who was seated near the
fire, stood up courteously to welcome him, leaning on his
cane. He suffered from sciatica, and could not walk save with