The Marquis, however, drove back to Wayne House tooling his high-perch phaeton despite the fact that it was still raining.
If there was one thing he disliked, it was being shut up in a closed carriage. It gave him the feeling of being confined and that was something he could never endure.
The rain on his face, the wind that had a touch of chill in it, seemed to him positively invigorating and, as he stepped down from the phaeton outside his porticoed front door, he looked the picture of vigorous, athletic good health.
As soon as the butler had taken his high-crowned hat and a footman his many-tiered overcoat, the Marquis walked across the marble hall towards the library.
“Tell Major Brownlow that I wish to speak to him,” he said to the footman who opened the door.
“Very good, my Lord.
