There were some half-score persons present, bearing the proudest names, holding the highest offices in the country. Lord Bellinger's quick eye did not fail to mark how each looked eagerly from the new-comer to the minister, as though to observe the nature of his reception. More erect than usual, for his blood was up, but with the graceful bearing that never deserted him, his lordship stepped across the room and made a low bow, almost defiant in the excess of courtesy which it seemed to affect. The minister, who was engaged with a paper in his hand, did not return the salutation for more than a minute. Lord Bellinger ground his teeth, and the bystanders glanced in each other's faces. Presently the great man raised his head, stared coldly at his visitor, and returned his obeisance without a word. The bystanders breathed freely; there was no more doubt, then, of their chief's displeasure, and they believed the interest of the scene was past. But, as they told each other afterwards, "Bellinger was a very awkward fellow to set down!" "My lord," said he, "I have waited on your lordship in self-defence." "My lord," was the answer, "your lordship's explanations must be made in public, and reserved for another place." Then the minister turned on him a broad, ungainly back; and he knew that in the Game of Brag, concerning which Harry St. Leger spoke so hopefully, he had come off second best. But he did not fail to keep his appointment at the Cocoa Tree, arriving there, indeed, somewhat earlier than the hour agreed on, and with an appetite no whit impaired by the contrarieties he had experienced. "It's the country air, I suppose," he observed lightly to his friend. "'Faith, Harry, should I be forced to retire into the country altogether it won't break my heart, if I'm always to be as hungry as now. Waiter! what can we have for supper?" "Aitch-bone of beef, my lord," was the answer. "Beg pardon, my lord, his grace has finished the aitch-bone; his grace never eats anything else. Cold game-pie, cold chicken and tongue, cold partridges, wild duck or teal, cold shoulder of mutton." "Anything but _that_, you knave!" replied his lordship, with a laugh. "No, no, Harry; I've had enough cold shoulder to-day to last me the rest of my life!" CHAPTER XXI. DULVERTON REVEL.