He had altered men’s outward appearance completely since, backed by the Prince of Wales, he had become the arbiter of fashion.

“Give me the man who makes the tailor, not the tailor who makes the man,” he had said on various occasions.

Clean linen was essential, uncluttered well-cut coats, boots polished even on the soles, were a few of his directives.

But most insistent of all was his ruling of no scent and no jewels.

“Later this afternoon,” Lord Dorrington replied, “I am meeting the person who gave me the pin and I could not under the circumstances be so churlish as to appear without it.”

“There is a problem for you, George!” Lord Yarmouth exclaimed to Beau Brummel. “Which is the more gentlemanly, to appear conventionally attired and cause unnecessary distress, or show a slight diversion from perfection?”

They all waited for the answer.

“No gentleman,” Brummel said impressively, “is ever rude or inconsiderate unintentionally.”

It took a moment for his meaning to be understood.

Then his friends laughed.

“Well done, George!” Lord Yarmouth cried. “You have an answer for everything.”

Lord Dorrington ordered what he wanted for luncheon and then joined in a conversation that was centred over a long and technical argument as to which horse was likely to win the Gold Cup at Ascot.

This subject continued all through the meal until with some adroitness Lord Dorrington brought the conversation round to Prince Ahmadi.

“I cannot think why you should be interested in that swine!” Lord Worcester exclaimed almost violently.

“Does he annoy you?” Lord Dorrington enquired, surprised at his tone of voice.

”I don’t often tell tales out of school about other men,” Lord Worcester replied, “but the other night I was at the White House.”

“Somewhere quite new!” Lord Alvanley remarked mockingly.

“Well, I like the place!” Lord Worcester retorted. “I took a little Cyprian there, as it happens, very pretty and well up to snuff.”

“Go on with the story,” Lord Dorrington urged him.

“We were having supper in one of the rooms upstairs,” Lord Worcester continued, “when suddenly we heard someone crying next door.”

He paused, realising that everyone at the table was listening to him.

“I would not have taken any notice if it had not sounded so piteous,” he said almost truculently. “Someone sobbing their heart out is not what you expect at the White House.”

“I should think not!” Lord Yarmouth ejaculated. “Not that I often go to such places.”

“That is a terminological inexactitude,” Lord Alvanley smiled. “Go on, Worcester, what happened?”

“I could not stand hearing someone in such misery,” he carried on. “I have always said that my soft heart would get me into trouble.”

“If not in one way – in another,” Lord Alvanley agreed.

“Anyway I went to see what it was all about,” Lord Worcester continued, “and found a child. She could not have been more than ten.”

He paused.