“Where did what come from?”

“That great splash of mud on my leg. Brand new on this morning, and I’ve scarce set my nose without doors. Damn it, I say! A brand new⁠—”

“Leg?”

“Hey? What’s that you say?”

“Nought. When you have quite finished your eulogy, perhaps you would consent to tell me your errand?”

“Oh, ay!⁠—but twenty shillings the pair! Think of it!⁠ ⁠… Well, the point⁠—there is one, you see⁠—is this: it is Richard’s desire that you honour him with your presence at Wyncham on Friday week, at three in the afternoon exactly. To which effect he sends you this.” He tossed a letter on to the desk. “You are like to have the felicity of meeting me there.”