"Yes, sir,"--the reply came rather hesitatingly--"but he's having a party to-night."
And, in fact, the scraping of violins and the shuffle of dancing feet were distinctly audible overhead.
"Oh, well, just mention my name--Sir Francis Lennox. Say I will not detain him more than five minutes."
He entered, and was ushered into a small ante-room while the maid went to deliver her message. He caught sight of his own reflection in a round mirror over the mantel-piece, and his face darkened as he saw a dull red ridge across his forehead--the mark of Thelma's well-directed blow,--the sign-manual of her scorn. A few minutes passed, and then there came in to him a large man in an expensive dress-suit,--a man with a puffy, red, Silenus-like countenance--no other than Mr. Snawley-Grubbs, who hailed him with effusive cordiality.
"My dear, Sir Francis!" he said in a rich, thick, uncomfortable voice. "This is an unexpected pleasure! Won't you come upstairs? My girls are having a little informal dance--just among themselves and their own young friends--quite simple,--in fact an unpretentious little affair!" And he rubbed his fat hands, on which twinkled two or three large diamond rings. "But we shall be charmed if you will join us!"
"Thanks, not this evening," returned Sir Francis. "It's rather too late. I should not have intruded upon you at this hour--but I thought you might possibly like this paragraph for the Snake."
And he held out with a careless air the paper on which he had scribbled but a few minutes previously. Mr. Snawley-Grubbs smiled,--and fixed a pair of elegant gold-rimmed eye-glasses on his inflamed crimson nose.
"I must tell you, though," he observed, before reading, "that it is too late for this week, at any rate. We've gone to press already."
"Never mind!" returned Sir Francis indifferently. "Next week will do as well."
And he furtively watched Mr. Snawley-Grubbs while he perused the pencilled scrawl. That gentleman, however, as Editor and Proprietor of the Snake--a new, but highly successful weekly "society" journal, was far too dignified and self-important to allow his countenance to betray his feelings. He merely remarked, as he folded up the little slip very carefully.
"Very smart! very smart, indeed! Authentic, of course?"
Sir Francis drew himself up haughtily. "You doubt my word?"
"Oh dear, no!" declared Mr. Snawley-Grubbs hastily, venturing to lay a soothing hand on Sir Francis's shoulder. "Your position, and all that sort of thing--Naturally you must be able to secure correct information. You can't help it! I assure you the Snake is infinitely obliged to you for a great many well-written and socially exciting paragraphs. Only, you see, I myself should never have thought that so extreme a follower of the exploded old doctrine of noblesse oblige, as Sir Philip Bruce-Errington, would have started on such a new line of action at all. But, of course, we are all mortal!" And he shook his round thick head with leering sagacity. "Well!" he continued after a pause. "This shall go in without fail next week, I promise you."