Dear
Gilmore!"
I had expected that the valet would be dismissed when I appeared,
but nothing of the sort happened. There he stood, in front of his
master's chair, trembling under the weight of the etchings, and
there Mr. Fairlie sat, serenely twirling the magnifying glass
between his white fingers and thumbs.
"I have come to speak to you on a very important matter," I said,
"and you will therefore excuse me, if I suggest that we had better
be alone."
The unfortunate valet looked at me gratefully. Mr. Fairlie
faintly repeated my last three words, "better be alone," with
every appearance of the utmost possible astonishment.
I was in no humour for trifling, and I resolved to make him
understand what I meant.
"Oblige me by giving that man permission to withdraw," I said,
pointing to the valet.
Mr. Fairlie arched his eyebrows and pursed up his lips in
sarcastic surprise.
"Man?" he repeated. "You provoking old Gilmore, what can you
possibly mean by calling him a man? He's nothing of the sort. He
might have been a man half an hour ago, before I wanted my
etchings, and he may be a man half an hour hence, when I don't
want them any longer. At present he is simply a portfolio stand.
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