The young gentleman turned round at this, and took a Tery leisurely survey of the man who contemplated a step of such rare audacity.
"He 's from Ireland, Mr. Darner," whispered the porter, with a half-kindly impulse to make an apology for such ignorance.
Mr. Darner smiled faintly, and gave a little nod, as though to say that the explanation was sufficient; and again turned towards Tony.
"I take it that you know Sir Harry Elphinstone?" asked he.
"I never saw him; but he knew my father very well, and he 'll remember my name."
"Knew your father? And in what capacity, may I ask?"
"In what capacity?" repeated Tony, almost fiercely.
"Yes; I mean, as what--on what relations did they stand to each other?"
"As schoolfellows at Westminster, where he fagged to my father; in the Grenadier Guards afterwards, where they served together; and, last of all, as correspondents, which they were for many years."
"Ah, yes," sighed the other, as though he had read the whole story, and a very painful story too, of change of fortune and ruined condition. "But still," continued he, "I 'd scarcely advise your going to Park Lane. He don't like it. None of them like it!"
"Don't they?" said Tony, not even vaguely guessing at whose prejudices he was hinting, but feeling bound to say something.
"No, they don't," rejoined Mr. Darner, in a half-confidential way. "There is such a deal of it,--fellows who were in the same 'eleven' at Oxford, or widows of tutors, or parties who wrote books,--I think they are the worst, but all are bores, immense bores! You want to get something, don't you?"
Tony smiled, as much at the oddity of the question as in acquiescence.
"I ask," said the other, "because you'll have to come to me: I 'm private secretary, and I give away nearly all the office patronage. Come upstairs;" and with this he led the way up a very dirty staircase to a still dirtier corridor, off which a variety of offices opened, the open doors of which displayed the officials in all forms and attitudes of idleness,--some asleep, some reading newspapers, some at luncheon, and two were sparring with boxing-gloves.
"Sir Harry writes the whole night through," said Mr. Damer; "that's the reason these fellows have their own time of it now;" and with this bit of apology he ushered Tony into a small but comfortably furnished room, with a great coal-fire in the grate, though the day was a sultry one in autumn.