He knew well that these subtleties were no longer the mode; that men no longer tried to outwit each other in official intercourse; that the time for such feats of smartness had as much gone by as the age of high neckcloths and tight coats; but yet, as he adhered to the old dandyism of the Regency in his dress, he maintained the old traditions of finesse in his diplomacy, and could no more have been betrayed into a Truth than he could have worn a Jim Crow. For that mere plodding, commonplace race of men that now filled “the line” he had the most supreme contempt; men who had never uttered a smart thing, or written a clever one. Diplomacy without epigram was like a dinner without truffles. It was really pleasant to hear him speak of the great days of Metternich and Nesselrode and Talleyrand, when a frontier was settled by a _bon mot_, and a dynasty decided by a doggerel. The hoarse roar of the multitude had not in those times disturbed the polished solemnity of the council-chamber, and the high priests of statecraft celebrated their mysteries unmolested. “The ninth telegram, my Lord,” said Temple, as he stood with a cipher despatch in his hand, just as Lord Culduff had reached his hotel at Naples. “Transcribe it, my dear boy, and let us hear it.” “I have, my Lord. It runs, 'Where is the special envoy? Let him report himself by telegraph.'” “Reply, 'At dinner, at the Hôtel Victoria; in passably good health, and indifferent spirits. '” “But, my Lord--” “There, you 'd better dress. You are always late. And tell the people here to serve oysters every day till I countermand them; and taste the Capri, please; I prefer it to Sauterne, if it be good. The telegram can wait.” “I was going to mention, my Lord, that Prince Castelmuro has called twice to-day, and begged he might be informed of your arrival. Shall I write him a line?” “No. The request must be replied to by him to whom it was addressed,--the landlord, perhaps, or the _laquaisde-place_.” “The King is most anxious to learn if you have come.” “His Majesty shall be rewarded for his courteous impatience. I shall ask an audience to-morrow.” “They told me dinner was served,” said Lady Culduff, angrily, as she entered the room, dressed as if for a court entertainment; “and I hurried down without putting on my gloves.” “Let me kiss your Ladyship's hand so temptingly displayed,” said he, stooping and pressing it to his lips. An impatient gesture of the shoulder, and a saucy curl of the lip were the only response to this gallantry. A full half-hour before Lord Culduff appeared Temple Bramleigh re-entered, dressed for dinner. “Giacomo is at his old tricks, Temple,” said she, as she walked the room impatiently. “His theory is that every one is to be in waiting on my Lord; and I have been here now close on three-quarters of an hour, expecting dinner to be announced. Will you please to take some trouble about the household, or let us have an attaché who will?”