His coat and waistcoat were off, his shirt open at the neck and his sleeves turned up.

He touched his forehead with a respectful and welcoming greeting, and without any surprise; for Stafford very often paid an early visit to the stable, and had more than once lent a hand in grooming a favourite horse.
"Looks well, sir, don't he ?" said Pottinger, passing a hand over the glossy black and finishing up with a loving smack.

"I'm rather late this morning, sir." He smiled and looked a little sheepish.

"We had a little bit of jollification in the servants' hall, on our own account, sir, and were enjoying ourselves like our betters." "That's right," said Stafford.

Something in his voice caused Pottinger to glance at him with surprise and apprehension; but, of course, he could not say anything, and he dropped his eyes respectfully after the one glance at Stafford's haggard face.
"I want you take a letter for me this morning, Pottinger," said Stafford.