Sir Wilfrid looked down the drawing-room, to see the famous War Minister coming slowly through the well-filled but not crowded room, stopping now and then to exchange a greeting or a farewell, and much hampered, as it seemed, in so doing, by a pronounced and disfiguring short-sight.  He was a strongly built man of more than middle height.  His iron-gray hair, deeply carved features, and cavernous black eyes gave him the air of power that his reputation demanded.  On the other hand, his difficulty of eyesight, combined with the marked stoop of overwork, produced a qualifying impression—­as of power teased and fettered, a Samson among the Philistines.

“My dear lady, good-night.  I must go and fight with wild beasts in Whitehall—­worse luck!  Ah, Duchess!  All very well—­but you can’t shirk either!”

So saying, Mr. Montresor shook hands with Mademoiselle Le Breton and smiled upon the Duchess—­both actions betraying precisely the same degree of playful intimacy.

“How did you find Lady Henry?” said Mademoiselle Le Breton, in a lowered voice.

“Very well, but very cross.  She scolds me perpetually—­I haven’t got a skin left.  Ah, Sir Wilfrid!—­very glad to see you!  When did you arrive?  I thought I might perhaps find you at the Foreign Office.”

“I’m going on there presently,” said Sir Wilfrid.

“Ah, but that’s no good.  Dine with me to-morrow night?—­if you are free?  Excellent!—­that’s arranged.  Meanwhile—­send him in, mademoiselle—­send him in!  He’s fresh—­let him take his turn.”  And the Minister, grinning, pointed backward over his shoulder towards an inner drawing-room, where the form of an old lady, seated in a wheeled invalid-chair between two other persons, could be just dimly seen.

“When the Bishop goes,” said Mademoiselle Le Breton, with a laughing shake of the head.  “But I told him not to stay long.”

“He won’t want to.  Lady Henry pays no more attention to his cloth than to my gray hairs.  The rating she has just given me for my speech of last night!  Well, good-night, dear lady—­good-night.  You are better, I think?”

Mr. Montresor threw a look of scrutiny no less friendly than earnest at the lady to whom he was speaking; and immediately afterwards Sir Wilfrid, who was wedged in by an entering group of people, caught the murmured words: 

“Consult me when you want me—­at any time.”

Mademoiselle Le Breton raised her beautiful eyes to the speaker in a mute gratitude.

“And five minutes ago I thought her plain!” said Sir Wilfrid to himself as he moved away.  “Upon my word, for a dame de compagnie that young woman is at her ease!  But where the deuce have I seen her, or her double, before?”