A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. Arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the Lodge, which was instantly opened—Shotbolt's note having been received just before. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. But, say we're friends. I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor.
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