"Nuptials! damned offensive term," muttered Lord Drewitt, then a moment afterwards, as if suddenly realising the purport of the letter he added, "Further than the colonies. What is further than the colonies?" he demanded, turning to Hoskins.
"There's nothing further than Australia, my lord."
"Isn't there? That shows you're an atheist. Here, hand me those trousers," and Lord Drewitt proceeded to dress.
Suddenly his mind had become alert, there was something in the letter that puzzled him, particularly taken in conjunction with the general trend of Beresford's recent remarks about the future.
With unaccustomed celerity he performed his toilet. Hoskins had never known him more quick or decisive in his movements, and marvelled at his unaccustomed silence. As a rule, during the process of dressing, Lord Drewitt reached the culminating point of his "easing off"; but to-day he was silent, his only remark being to tell Hoskins to order the porter to ring-up for a taxi.
Lord Drewitt's habitual air of boredom had vanished. In its place was a look of definite purpose, with something suggestive of anxiety.
When eventually he drove up to St. James's Mansions, he discovered just in front of him a very small boy with an extremely large parcel swathed in thin brown paper.
"Mr. Richard Beresford," piped the lad.
A porter came forward and took it from him.
