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At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from

Curzon Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord

Fermor, a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom

the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular

benefit from him, but who was considered generous by Society as

he fed the people who amused him. His father had been our

ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young and Prim unthought

of, but had retired from the diplomatic service in a capricious

moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris, a

post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by reason

of his birth, his indolence, the good English of his dispatches,

and his inordinate passion for pleasure.