Yet it
was only too plain that his lordship now realized what had been the
profound gravity of the situation, and I was glad to see that he meant
to end it without any nonsense.
"Silly ass, old George, though," he added as the Belknap-Jacksons
approached. "How a creature like that could ever have fancied him!
What, what!"
His hosts were profuse in their apologies for having so thoughtlessly
run away from his lordship--they carried it off rather well. They were
keen for sitting at the table once more, as the other observant diners
were lingering on, but his lordship would have none of this.
"Stuffy place!" said he. "Best be getting on." And so, reluctantly,
they led him down the gauntlet of widened eyes. Even so, the tenth
Earl of Brinstead had dined publicly with them. More than repaid they
were for the slight the Honourable George had put upon them in the
affair of the pianoforte artist.
An hour later Belknap-Jackson had me on by telephone. His voice was
not a little worried.
"I say, is his lordship, the Earl, subject to spells of any sort? We
were in the library where I was showing him some photographic views of
dear old Boston, and right over a superb print of our public library
he seemed to lose consciousness. Might it be a stroke? Or do you think
it's just a healthy sleep? And shall I venture to shake him? How would
he take that? Or should I merely cover him with a travelling rug? It
would be so dreadful if anything happened when he's been with us such
a little time.
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