The seventh Duke had managed to get through his income, but it was by means which the ninth would not follow. He did not believe in keeping up five or six huge establishments, as though a great noble lived in each, and for no other reason than that they might be lent to friends. He was safe from the temptation of lending his houses to any of his old friends, for not one of all the people he knew could afford the mere tips to the servants.
Anyway, it was a very pleasant thing to sit there at ease, smoking the very best cigar, looking at the broad river, and knowing that one's pockets were full of money, and that the moment these pockets were empty they might be filled again and again and again as often as one liked.
A cab was called for him, and he drove the whole way to Long Acre. It was dusk as he came, and that was a mercy, for he passed through repulsive ways and repulsive people. But still the surroundings had no power to depress him; and although he did feel a sense of relief when he found himself crossing Waterloo Bridge, he was not sorry for his drive. When a man of good constitution and equable mind is happy and on excellent terms with himself and the world, there is something cheering and invigorating in the contemplation of large masses' of people, no matter of what social standing those people may be.
When he got to Long Acre it was dark. He ran up the long-familiar stairs, and found himself in the old rooms. They had, by his order, been altered greatly since he had last seen them. All the old furniture had been removed, and what had been his sitting room had been converted into a dining-room, and what had been his bedroom into a smoking-room. Two more rooms at the opposite side of the landing had been taken by him. The smaller of these was lined with hat and coat pegs, and the larger discharged the joint offices of larder, wine-cellar, and butler's pantry. In the last room sat two waiters. A third servant took charge of the hat-pegs, and a fourth attended to the door downstairs. None of the men wore livery.
No one had come yet, and the host went into the smoking-room and sat down. He did not expect any man to be punctually there at nine o'clock, and some he did not expect until after the theatres. He had asked about twenty artists--actors, authors, musicians; and although he had got replies from only five, he fully expected all would come. He knew Bohemia seldom troubles itself to answer letters of that kind; it usually hates writing letters, but it comes. All those whom he had invited were old friends; and as he felt quite sure they were men enough to visit him in sickness or in strait, he was equally sure they were not cads enough to stay away in his prosperity.