The dinner at the Marine was a success. Boffham, who keeps the hotel, had been _chef_ to Count Krammetsvogel, of the Hanoverian embassy, in former days, and had turned out many excellent official dinners, of which Lord Ticehurst's father had partaken. When he heard that the young lord was to be a guest of one of his guests, Boffham went himself to the kitchen, and showed that neither Time nor the gout had robbed his hand of its cunning. The wines too--notably some Chateau Yquem and some Steinberger Cabinet, which had been bought by Boffham out of the Krammetsvogel cellar when the count was recalled--were delicious; so delicious, that many bottles were drunk, and the hearts of the drinkers were warmed, and their tongues loosened. Something which Bobby Maitland had said to him when they first met that day had stuck in Lord Ticehurst's throat. He had tried to swallow it, but the attempt had been unsuccessful. Under the influence of the wine he felt he must mention it--he could see no reason why he should not. "Bobby!" he said, as they were sipping their claret, "my horses will be round in a minute; but I want to say two words to you before I go.--Don't you move, Mr. Stacks," Stackborough made a kind of blundering attempt to rise,--"don't you move, there's nothing secret or private,"--here Lord Ticehurst looked long and earnestly at the wick of the candle close by him, then proceeded--"or at least; if there is, you're far too good a fellow, Stacks, to--to--you know what I mean.--So do you, Bobby." "All right, Etchingham, old boy, I know," said Mr. Maitland "What do you want to say?" Mr. Maitland had to repeat his question, Lord Ticehurst having again become absorbed in the contemplation of the candle. "What do you want to say?" "What do I want to say?" said his lordship, after a pause--"ah, that's just it! I wonder--O, I know! Don't you know when you folks first met me to-day, you said something, Bobby--something about Lloyd?" "Yes, I recollect--what then?" "You asked me where my nurse was, or something of that sort, didn't you?" "I think I did." "Ah! just tell me, like a good fellow--is that the way men talk about me and Lloyd?" "What way?" "Do they say that he--that I--that he's like what you said, my nurse?" "They say you daren't call your soul your own without his leave. That you never move hand or foot without him; some say he washes you and parts your hair; but that's their way of putting it. What they mean is, that he's your master, and you're his most obedient." "And do you think Lloyd knows they say this?" "Knows they say it!" repeated Bobby Maitland, with a loud vinous laugh; "knows they say it! why, he says it himself; boasts of it!"