His Grace — page 231: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS GRACE. 225 fully, ludicrously appropriate that I burst into one of those abrupt guffaws for which I have all my life en- joyed an unenviable celebrity. By the time that I had composed myself Hurstbourne was half-way down towards the landing, looking extremely huffy, while Nora’s pale cheeks were suffused with the rosy hue of wrath. The uproar of my own hilarity had prevented me from hearing what passed between them; but no doubt she had given him the recollection of a waspish speech to take away with him. She left my side almost immediately afterwards, a partner having come up to claim her, and during the rest of the evening I saw her only from a distance. From a distance also I surveyed the other actors in the little drama with which I was concerned—Miss St. George, who looked superbly handsome and triumphant, Hurstbourne, who seemed to be in one of his reckless moods, and the future Chancellor of the Duchy of Lan- caster, at whose elbow black Care had evidently sta- tioned ‘herself. By watching the pantomime which unfolded itself at intervals before me I could form a pretty shrewd conjecture at what they were all doing and saying; sometimes they were together, sometimes one of them (Paul Gascoigne) was left out in the cold ; once I fancied that there was a sort of incipient alter- cation between him and Hurstbourne; but it came to nothing, and shortly after two o’clock the politician went away—beaten out of the field, I assumed. I hardly know why I myself lingered on until sunrise. Perhaps I wanted to walk home with Hurstbourne, (Lady Charles had long since departed), and to hear the worst from his lips. Anyhow, I did wait for him; and one result of my having done so was that I was +5 Eomichboo cS (e(o)