The Visitor
The strange man did not resist. He smiled rather foolishly. They hailed a four-wheeler, and we all got in together. We drove about half a mile to the south of Westminster Bridge, stopped at a large Georgian house, and there we all got out. I noticed that the two men treated the stranger with immense respect, but with considerable authority. He, poor fellow, waved his hand at me, and said with a faint smile as he went through the door, arm in arm with his captors:
"Sorry you had to pay. Came away without my salary ticket. Very silly." And he disappeared.
The other man remaining behind said to me very seriously, "I hope his Lordship didn't trouble you, sir?"
I said that on the contrary he had behaved like an English gentleman, all except the clothes.
"Well," said the keeper, "he's not properly a Lord as you may say; he's an Australian gent. But he's a Lord in a manner of speaking, because Parliament did make him one. As for the clothes—ah! you may well ask! But we durstn't say anything: the doctor and the nurse says it soothes him since his money trouble. But I say, make 'em act sensible and they will be sensible."
He then watched to see whether I would give him money for no particular reason, and as I made no gestures to that effect I went away, and thus avoided what politicians call "studied insolence."
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