"Don't you see that his honour has been holding out his front paw for ever so long ?" [Footnote 7: _I.e._, Little Paul.] "Crying your pardon," said the worthy steward, drawing his hands away, "I am not worthy of so much honour!" And not for the whole world could he have been brought to extend his hand towards Master Jock, to whom he alone of all the world gave his proper title.

It was also impossible to ever get him to sit down by the side of his honour.

Palko had to hold him down in a chair by main force, but he would always jump up again, and remain standing before his master as soon as the pressure was removed.
And, indeed, his honour, the steward, and the heyduke made up an odd-looking trio between them.

Karpathy's face, at such moments, was always unusually serene, his great bald forehead shone like the cupola of a temple, the scanty remains of his grey hair curled round his forehead and the nape of his neck in silvery wisps; he was shaved beautifully smooth, save for a well-kept moustache curling elegantly upwards at both ends; the fiery redness of his eyes had vanished, and there was no longer any trace of deforming wrinkles.
Opposite him stood the worthy steward, with the old-fashioned, scrupulously obsequious, and infallibly respectful homage of a former generation writ large on every feature of his bronzed countenance.

His moustache was clipped close to save trouble, but all the more care had he bestowed upon his marvellous powdered top-knot--itself a survival--which respectable elevation the worthy fellow revealed to the light of day, neatly bound up with a black ribbon.