Lucian the Dreamer by J.S. Fletcher

About the middle of a May afternoon, seven years later, a young man turned out of the Strand into a quiet street in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden and began looking about him as if endeavouring to locate the whereabouts of some particular place. Catching sight of the name _William Robertson_ on a neighbouring window, with the word _Publisher_ underneath it, he turned into the door of the establishment thus designated, and encountering an office-boy who was busily engaged in reading a comic journal inside a small pen labelled ‘Inquiries,' he asked with great politeness if Mr. Robertson was at that moment disengaged. The office-boy in his own good time condescended to examine the personal appearance of the inquirer, and having assured himself that the gentleman was worthy his attention he asked in sharp tones if he had an appointment with Mr. Robertson. To this the stranger replied that he believed he was expected by Mr. Robertson during the afternoon, but not at any particular hour, and produced a card from which the office-boy learned that he was confronting the Viscount Saxonstowe. He forthwith disappeared into some inner region and came back a moment later with a young gentleman who cultivated long hair and an esthetic style of necktie, and bowed Lord Saxonstowe through various doors into a pleasant ante-room, where he accommodated his lordship with a chair and the _Times_, and informed him that Mr. Robertson would be at liberty in a few moments.

Lord Saxonstowe remarked that he was in no hurry at all, and would wait Mr. Robertson's convenience. The young gentleman with the luxuriant locks replied politely that he was quite sure Mr. Robertson would not keep his lordship waiting long, and added that they were experiencing quite summer-like weather. Lord Saxonstowe agreed to this proposition, and opened the _Times_. His host or keeper for the time being seated himself at a desk, one half of which was shared by a lady typist who had affected great interest in her work since Lord Saxonstowe's entrance, and who now stole surreptitious glances at him as he scanned the newspaper. The clerk scribbled a line or two on a scrap of paper and passed it across to her. She untwisted it and read: ‘_This is the chap that did that tremendous exploration in the North of Asia: a real live lord, you know._' She scribbled an answering line: ‘_Of course I know -- do you think I didn't recognise the name? _' and passed it over with a show of indignation. The clerk indited another epistle: ‘_Don't look as if he'd seen much of anything, does he? _' The girl perused this, scribbled back: ‘_His eyes and moustache are real jam! _' and fell to work at her machine again. The clerk sighed, caressed a few sprouts on his top-lip, and remarking to his own soul that these toffs always catch the girls' eyes, fell to doing nothing in a practised way.