"Letty dear, this is Mr. David Thain--Lady Letitia Thursford.  I told you about Mr. Thain, dear, didn't I?  This is almost his first visit to England, and I want every one to be nice to him.  Mr. Thain, this is my other niece, Lady Margaret Lees, and her husband, Sir Robert Lees. Where's Reginald?"
"Father will be here directly," Letitia replied.  "If anyone's famished, we can commence lunch."
"Then let us commence, by all means," the Duchess suggested.  "I have been giving the whole of the morning to Mr. Thain, improving his mind and showing him things.  We wound up with the shops--although I am sure Alfred's tradespeople are no use to anyone."
Letitia moved a few steps towards the bell, and on her way back she encountered the somewhat earnest gaze of her aunt's protégé.  Even in those few moments since his entrance, she had been conscious of a somewhat different atmosphere in the faded but stately room.  He had the air of appraising everything yet belonging nowhere, of being wholly out of touch with an environment which he could scarcely be expected to understand or appreciate.  He was not noticeably ill-at-ease.  On the other hand, his deportment was too rigid for naturalness, and she was conscious of some quality in his rather too steadfast scrutiny of herself which militated strongly against her usual toleration.  He seemed to stand for events, and in the lives which they mostly lived, events were ignored.
The butler opened the door and announced luncheon.  They crossed the very handsome, if somewhat empty hall, into the sombre, mahogany-furnished dining room, the walls of which were closely hung with oil paintings.  Letitia motioned the stranger to sit at her right hand, and fancied that he seemed a little relieved at this brief escape from his cicerone.  Having gone so far, however, she ignored him for several moments whilst she watched the seating of her other guests.
Her brother-in-law she drew to the vacant place on her left.
"I dare say father will lunch at the club," she whispered.  "Aunt Caroline always ruffles him."
"I am afraid he will have found something down Temple Bar way to ruffle him a great deal more this morning," Sir Robert replied.
The door of the dining room was at that moment thrown open, however, and the Marquis entered.  Pausing for a moment on the threshold, in line with a long row of dingy portraits, there was something distinctly striking in the family likeness so mercilessly reproduced in his long face, with the somewhat high cheekbones, his tall, angular figure, the easy bearing and gracious smile.  One missed the snuffbox from between his fingers, and the uniform, but there was yet something curiously unmodern in the appearance of this last representative of the Mandeleys.
"Let no one disturb themselves, pray," he 

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