The consultation is
on."
Lord Hartledon rose.
"I will not detain you, Carr; business must be attended to. Will you come
and dine with us this evening? Only me and my wife. Here's where we are
staying--Piccadilly. My own house is let, you know."
"I have no engagement, and will come with pleasure," said Mr. Carr,
taking the card. "What hour?"
"Ah, that's just what I can't tell you. Lady Hartledon orders dinner to
suit her engagements--any time between six and nine! I never know. We are
a fashionable couple, don't you see?"
"Stay, though, Hartledon; I forget. I have a business appointment for
half-past eight. Perhaps I can put it off."
"Come up at six. You'll be all right, then, in any case."
Lord Hartledon left the Temple, and sauntered towards home. He had
no engagement on hand--nothing to kill time. He and his wife were
falling naturally into the way of--as he had just cynically styled
it--fashionable people. She went her way and he went his.
Many a cabman held up his hand or his whip; but in his present mood
walking was agreeable to him: why should he hurry home, when he had
nothing on earth to do there? So he stared here, and gazed there, and
stopped to speak to this acquaintance, and walked a few steps with that,
went into his club for ten minutes, and arrived home at last.
His wife's carriage was at the door waiting for her.
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