There he was, standing with a group of men who she presumed to be the other richest men in the world. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding.
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