When he reached the dark green mansion of Lady Enid's worthy father,
the Marquis of Glome, and had applied the bronze demon that served as a
knocker four separate times to the door, he was still so lost in thought
that he started violently on the appearance of the Scotch retainer at
the portal, and behaved for a moment as if he were considering which
of two courses he should pursue: _i.e._, whether he should clamber
frantically into the seclusion of the area, or take boldly to the
open street. Before he could do either M'Allister, the retainer, had
magnetised him into the hall, relieved him of his hat--almost with the
seductive adroitness of a Drury Lane thief--and drawn him down a tartan
passage into a very sensible-looking boudoir, in which Lady Enid was
sitting by a wood fire with a very tall and lusty young man.
"Mr. Hennessey Vivian!"
"What, Bob--you here!" said the Prophet to the lusty young man, after
shaking hands a little distractedly with Lady Enid.
"Yes, old chap. But I'm just off. I know you two want to have a confab,"
returned Mr. Robert Green, wringing his old school friend's hand.
"Niddy's given me the chuck. And anyhow I'm bound to look in at the Bath
Club at four to fence with Chicky Bostock.
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