Yet he was not entertained; rather he was enthralled; he sat quiet under the compulsion of a spell.

His face became unnaturally white, his eyes unnaturally large, while the flames of the candles shone ever redder and more blurred through a blue haze of tobacco smoke, and the level of the wine grew steadily lower in the decanters.
Thus half of that one hour's furlough was passed; and then General Feversham, himself jogged by the unlucky mention of a name, suddenly blurted out in his jerky fashion:-- "Lord Wilmington.

One of the best names in England, if you please.

Did you ever see his house in Warwickshire?
Every inch of the ground you would think would have a voice to bid him play the man, if only in remembrance of his fathers....

It seemed incredible and mere camp rumour, but the rumour grew.