||- - º - （~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ … …... uctw i'£" SPECIAL LIMITED EDITION ^ f± THE DUKE BY J. STORER CLOUSTON AUTHOR OF "THB LUNATIC AT LARGE" NEW YORK B. W. DODGE & COMPANY Publishers Trii NilW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 40839^ AfTOR, LENOK AN* TILDtH FOUNDATIWM, R 1912 L Copyright, 1900, b» JLONGMANS, GREEN, AND COl Ail rights mtrtnd TROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND flOOKRINOINQ NBW YORK THE DUKE PART I CHAPTER I C RANCIS LE CLAIRE HASELLE, Duke of * Grandon, and many things besides, had come to the limit of his reign. There was straw lying a foot deep for a quarter of a mile before Grandon House, and in the sick-chamber you could hardly hear a sound out of all the London noises. He was only forty-eight, and he lay with his eyes still bright and his wits about him, but his doom had been told and he knew there was just a grain or two of sand to run through the glass. Only one sat in the room beside his bed, a tall man with a long face and a square mouth and two little bits of side whisker. His features were clean cut, though by no means handsome; his eyes light grey, and his costume scrupulously correct in the mode of the sportsman about town. "Pull up that blind a bit, Pursie," said the Duke. 2 THE DUKE The tall man rose and drew it up slightly. "That do?" he asked. The Duke nodded, and stretched out his hand towards a wine-glass. "Have a drop more?" said his friend. The Duke nodded again, and the tall man poured out some champagne. "Doctor says it doesn't matter now," said the Duke, with a little grim smile. "Might as well be cheerful." He took a sip and put the glass down. "Feel better?" said the other. "Able to talk," replied the Duke. "I want to speak to you, Pursie. I say, smoke away; I like it." Sir Pursuivant Debrette took out a cigar. "Sure you don't mind?" "I'd tell you if I did." Sir Pursuivant lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. "Yes?" he said. "It's about my heir—leave him in your hands —you'll see to him. What?" Sir Pursuivant crossed his legs, drew his lips into a tight smile, and, after a moment's pause, answered— "I'll do my best, Frank; but it's the devil and THE DUKE 3 all managin' a youngster who's bin out on grass so long, when it comes to suddenly feedin' him on oats." "Wild oats and strawberry leaves," said the Duke. He had a turn for sardonic epigram, and chuckled faintly at this flicker of his wit. Sir Pursuivant laughed politely, like a man whose observation of what was expected supplied any deficiency of humour. "He'll probably kick a bit," he remarked. "At first," said the Duke; "but a dukedom's devilish sobering." He smiled faintly, and his friend emitted a more appreciative laugh. "You know something about him," the Duke went on. "Seventh cousin twice removed, or something of that kind." "Fourth once removed," said Sir Pursuivant, who was a byword for accuracy in these matters. "Nearest male heir, anyhow. They've all died off, Pursie; he's the only Haselle left. A brother, two cousins, and a nephew gone in the last ten years, and deuce an heir among 'em. No one left but this man." "Good blood," said his friend; "he'll do all right" 4 THE DUKE The Duke closed his eyes and seemed to be thinking thoughts that a sick man had better forget. "Good blood," he repeated. Then he opened his eyesi and said, " He's a son of Walter Haselle." "Knew that." "You remember the business?" "Yes," said Sir Pursuivant. He was looking inscrutably at his friend, and he kept looking at him through a brief silence. Suddenly he asked— "He was guilty, I s'pose?" The Duke made no answer, and as suddenly the Baronet added— "Never mind; that's all ancient history now. Let's talk of the youngster. How's he provided for?" With a twitch of his face the Duke seemed to change the direction of his thoughts. "I've left him enough to keep the thing going; pretty nearly everything, in fact. If he wants to play the fool, now's his chance; see that he plays it like a gentleman, will you?" "I'll do my best, Frank," replied Sir Pursuivant, with the gravity befitting such a responsibility. "I've had a good run for my money myself," THE DUKE J5 said the Duke; "but I've never forgotten who I was. I haven't had a folly that's cost me less than a £50 note, and I've left a wardrobe that would fit out half the men about town." The Duke gave this summary of his virtues with his eyes closed and an immovable countenance. His friend looked at him a trifle uneasily; it was hard to say in what spirit he spoke, and Sir Pur- suivant disliked ambiguities. "I'll tell him what you said," he hazarded. "Do; give him a list of my virtues, Pursie— before you forget 'em yourself." The Duke smiled slightly. "Hang it, Frank," said Sir Pursuivant jerkily; "I'll remember 'em all right. You've bin a devil- ish good friend—and all that. I'll do what I can for the next Duke. I'm only afraid he won't thank me for my trouble." "What do you expect?" asked the Duke. "You are fifty, Pursie; do you still look for thanks? I leave you in charge of everything. He'll have to come to you at first; set him going like a gentleman—if it's possible." "What kind of a youngster is he?" "Don't know, and it doesn't matter much to me now; but hang it, Pursie, he'll be Duke of // 6 THE DUKE Grandon, seventh Duke, eighteenth Baron Ha- selle." "Nineteenth," corrected Sir Pursuivant. "I had forgotten—eighteenth is practically bur- ied. We've blood, Pursie; we've still power if we've the sense to use it. I've moved a few pawns myself. Tell Stock to look after the boy's poli- tics; he's a conceited, underbred ass, but he has brains of a kind. Don't let the first girl catch him; give him something to play with meanwhile. Put him into a decent set till he knows his way— Jews and fools afterwards if he likes." The Duke paused for breath, and stretched out his hand uncertainly towards the wine-glass. Sir Pursuivant quickly rose and slipped it within his grasp. There was a brief silence, and then the Baronet asked— "How old is he?" "Twenty-something; you've got up his history, haven't you? I haven't—don't know anything more' about him. But he'll be Duke of Grandon to-morrow, Pursie, and when he comes home you'll probably see quite enough of him. He will cer- tainly be a cub, and probably a fool. You'll lick him into shape. What?" THE DUKE 7 "I'll try," said Sir Pursuivant. Again the Duke closed his eyes and there was silence for a little. Sir Pursuivant smoked his cigar, and never a shade of expression crossed his face, while only the faintest of muffled sounds came now and again into the room. All at once the pa- tient moved slightly in his bed, and said in a voice that had not yet lost its caustic, imperious note— "By the by, Pursie, there's another matter— 'bout those Gayes." "What about 'em?" said the Baronet. "Forgot 'em." "You mean there's nothin' in your will?" "Not a word." Sir Pursuivant threw a glance at his friend that would have been a reproof if it had fallen upon a face less white and thin. "Rather bad luck, isn't it?" he suggested. "D n it, there's no obligation!" exclaimed his Grace sharply. Sir Pursuivant returned no answer, and in a moment he went on— "You might as well see to 'em all the same, just to keep 'em quiet. She may talk if you don't, and I'd like to keep my memory as clean as—my life, for instance." THE DUKE 9 quite remarkable; that he was a steward of the Jockey Club, an ex-president of the M.C.C.; that he held high-sounding offices at Court and in the late Cabinet; that, in fact, he must have been a nobleman of some energy and capacity. As in- deed he was; a hard-living, shrewd, energetic, in- fluential person, with a very mixed reputation among those who knew. It further appeared that he had been a bachelor, and was survived only by two sisters, Lady Rou- lett, wife of the well-known peer of that name, and the Lady Georgiana Stock, spouse of the Right Honourable John Sanderson Stock, M.P. From the same source the world was informed that a number of distinguished families were placed in mourning by this untoward event; the cele- brated anecdote of the third Duke and the under- housemaid was repeated by the lighter journals, and the fourth Duke's successful premiership men- tioned by the more serious. One or two of the least reticent recalled the late peer's younger days, when for a year or two his name was a byword for recklessness and ill-luck, and ruin must have hovered within a hair's breadth. The tide had turned, they said, none too soon, and since then it had always run with him. IO THE DUKE In most papers the immense acreage of his Scottish and English estates and the unencum- bered rent-roll accruing from these were given with the relish a writer feels in stringing rows of naughts. The ducal family were originally Scotch, and the barony of Haselle is an ancient dignity in that kingdom, but in the course of the centuries through which they had towered above the level of mankind they had accumulated titles and estates from both sides of the border in such profusion that one would think their possessor must feel embarrassed how to wear and enjoy them all. And yet it was said that his late Grace had successfully overcome any diffidence he might have been ex- pected to display. Naturally the world was some- what interested in hearing who should succeed to all these privileges and endowments, but that was precisely the point on which it was difficult to ob- tain information. Most of the obituary notices said nothing at all about an heir, and from the best sources the most inquiring and generally well- informed could only glean that one Lambert Ha- selle, of whom society had never before so much as heard, was now seventh Duke of Grandon. v CHAPTER II T^VURING the forty-eight years of his life the late *-** Duke was only known to have had one real intimate. He and Pursuivant Debrette had been at a preparatory school together; at Eton, at Ox- ford, in every act and in almost every scene of the polite comedy they played. Sir Pursuivant was indeed never a politician, but then the Duke was no idealist and maintained a fine aristocratic con- tempt for all save the power of the thing, so that such a diversity in their pursuits was of really less moment than an opposite preference in hatters. His Grace always held that Pursie had less non- sense about him than any man he ever knew; his friend, besides, was two years older than himself, which in their youth gave him a riper advantage he had never quite lost. V^? > Sir Pursuivant certainly had as little nonsense as anything that should still be human. Instead, he was possessed of strong aristocratic prejudices, sensible and conservative views on the dozen or so , 12 THE DUKE subjects within his horizon, an exact knowledge of horses and genealogy, and a power of silently repelling whomsoever he chose. A perfectly au- thenticated pedigree took him straight back to Foulke de Debrette of Senlac battle, he held an Ulster baronetcy, and he was endowed with an in- come sufficient to comfortably defray such charges of living as were not met by his late friend. Like so many of his kind, he was an excellent and methodical man of business, and the Duke had confided the conduct of the interregnum entirely to his discretion. He discharged the servants at Grandon House, placed everything under lock and key, and once a day at least paid a surprise visit to the ancient caretaker. He secured the valuables, interviewed lawyers, wrote himself to Lambert Haselle; and all in a solemn, hard-mouthed way, just as you would have expected from a man with no nonsense in him. No one would have believed he felt lonely or so much as missed his friend and patron. All this time there were two ladies most anxious to have a word apart with Sir Pursuivant. Of late years the Duke had been on somewhat distant terms with his sisters; he had quarrelled with Lord Roulett over monetary transactions, for the Duke • THE DUKE 13 was keen as a hawk whenever he did condescend to business, and his brother-in-law a veritable sieve for sovereigns; while some ducal slights received by the Right Honourable John Stock, M.P., had been keenly resented by the Lady Georgiana. But now that their brother was dead, the two spouses of these injured gentlemen became most importu- nate for an interview with the acting regent. "Suppose I must see 'em," reflected Sir Pursui- vant. "Hope they won't pretend to feel sentimen- tal or blame me for the will or anythin'. I never liked 'em, no more did Frank. Still, I suppose it's got to be done." He began with the Lady Georgiana on the prin- ciple, as he put it, of getting the stiffest ditch over first. He found her in the deepest mourning, the only occupant of a drawing-room of immense size, decorated after the most conventional design. At the first glance it was evident that this lady was by no means lacking in character. On features de- cisive, confident, and closely resembling the hard countenance of her late brother, there was perpet- ually set a gracious smile which somehow seemed to belong to her in the same sense as her shoes and stockings. As befitted the wife of an eminent statesman and a member of so distinguished a I4 THE DUKE house, she possessed a beneficently patronising manner and clearly defined ideas on many serious topics. Sir Pursuivant had never been a ladies' man. In their society his conversation lost its redeeming raciness of phrase, and both it and his manner took on a curiously stiff and modernised suggestion of the old-fashioned formal courtesy. In drawing- rooms he was generally considered dull, and what the late Duke saw in him had always been the won- der of his sisters; a lack of appreciation which Sir Pursuivant most cordially returned. Yet his de- votion to their house was strict and at present he felt a certain responsibility towards them. He greeted the Lady Georgiana with a low but slightly spasmodic bow, raised his hand high enough to receive her finger-tips, stood at stiff attention till she was seated, and then placed himself bolt upright upon the uneasiest chair he saw. "Ah," she began graciously, "I thought I was never going to see you, Sir Pursuivant." "Sorry," he replied, "had so little time. I'd have called sooner if I could." "Oh, I know, Sir Pursuivant, you've been most kind. My poor brother's affairs couldn't be in bet- THE DUKE 15 ter hands! It's so very good of you to find time to see me now." The Lady Georgiana's smile was more beneficent than ever, and her manner the most gracious in her repertoire. Sir Pursuivant was somewhat taken aback; she had never beamed on him like this be- fore, and he had come expecting an acid examina- tion. "What the deuce is she up to?" he won- dered. She almost shook a tremor of emotion out of her voice as she spoke of her late brother's virtues and untimely end, and alluded feelingly to Sir Pur- suivant's devotion. She referred glibly to political consequences so far-reaching that Sir Pursuivant thought to himself, " By Gad, I didn't think poor old Frank 'ud have made such a lot of difference. It's like scratchin' a favourite." Unfortunately, after his custom in ladies' society, he kept this simile to himself, and the only remark he made was a very dry, " Yes, Frank's a great loss." "The stick! He doesn't feel it a bit," thought Lady Georgiana. At last she came to the point. Her visitor had insensibly relapsed from his ramrod demeanour; he had bent forward with his elbows on his knees, playing with his gloves, and looking abstractedly before him. For Sir Pursuivant this was an un- 16 THE DUKE constrained drawing-room attitude, and might be- token a willingness to answer questions. "And now tell me, Sir Pursuivant," she asked in her most winning accents, "who is this new Duke?" "Lambert Haselle, I b'lieve's his name." "Yes. But really, that tells one so little! I suppose I ought to know about him as he is a cousin, but then he has hitherto been rather—er— what is known as a poor relation. No one has so much as heard of him. Is he—is he quite the sort of person one would desire?" "Don't know, really, Lady Georgiana. I sup- pose he's a gentleman, and all that." "It is to be hoped," said Lady Georgiana seri- ously, " that he is at all events capable of becoming one. "Hope so," agreed the Baronet. "The first essential he has already," she con- tinued. "He is well born. But I am not one of those, Sir Pursuivant, who consider the accident of birth is by itself sufficient. Principles, aspirations, and refinement are the trinity of noblesse, are they not?" As she uttered this epigram the excellent lady looked at Sir Pursuivant with an air that made the THE DUKE 17 Baronet as uncomfortable as he ever felt. She must mean something, he knew, but for the life of him he could not divine what it was. "Exactly," he hazarded. "In his case these are probably only in the chrysalis stage so far. They must germinate, they must develop, in a suitable atmosphere." "H'm," said Sir Pursuivant. "Your responsibilities are great, Sir Pursuivant. It is to you that this young man will look for his example and his ideals." "Hope he finds 'em," thought the Baronet. The lady paused as if to permit her visitor to make a very natural suggestion. As, however, his attention seemed to be devoted to adjusting his sock, she was obliged to approach the matter deli- cately. "For my own part, Sir Pursuivant," she said, with a martyred air in most remarkable con- trast to the Haselle features and stereotyped smile, "it will of course be my duty to show some interest in this young man." "Very good o' you," said the Baronet. "It is kind of you to say so," replied Lady Geor- giana. "But after all I am his nearest relative— his nearest available relative I mean. My sister, Lady Roulett, is so engrossed with the frivolities 18 THE DUKE of society that I fear she can be of little assistance; in fact, I am not at all sure that her set would be the most desirable for him. The character and the principles of the young man are naturally, therefore, matters of the greatest anxiety to me." Perceiving that Sir Pursuivant's face showed the traces of an emotion which she rightly judged to be surprise, mixed with a little perplexity, she contin- ued in the same tone of firm resignation— "I am a mother, Sir Pursuivant, and I should not like to think that my Julia or Maria would be thrown—as they unavoidably must be—into the society of a depraved or underbred person." "Quite so," said the Baronet briefly. Lady Georgiana looked at him for a moment as if challenging some further comment, but as his long countenance and straight mouth remained as impassive as if they had been hewn from wood, she proceeded graciously— "You can then count on my utmost endeavours to civilise your protege, Sir Pursuivant." "Thanks," said the Baronet. "Much obliged, I assure you. I'll — er — let you know when he comes." "As soon as you know when he is expected, Sir Pursuivant, for it will hardly do to go straight out THE DUKE 19 of deep mourning. You see, I shall have to enter- tain again as soon as he comes home." "I expect him in about a month." "So soon as that!" Lady Georgiana reflected. "Perhaps," she said, "it will be safer to modify our mourning at once." As Sir Pursuivant made no comment, she smiled again, and broke out enthusiastically— "Do you know, I am most anxious to see this new relative! He has been a squatter, has he not?" "Comes from Australia, I b'lieve." "That is the same thing, I presume," said Lady Georgiana. "You know nothing more about him?" "Practically nothin'," said Sir Pursuivant. "Has he any brothers or sisters?" "No." "Ah," said the lady, in a tone of some relief it seemed. Then she asked, "Who is he precisely? I am afraid we have rather lost sight of that branch of the Haselles." Sir Pursuivant crossed his legs, nursed one knee, and replied in the precise manner of one who is master of his facts, 20 THE DUKE "His grandfather was the Reverend Lambert Hasellc, third cousin of your father, Lady Georgi- ana; held a livin' in the north of England. Eldest son was a Walter Haselle." Here Sir Pursuivant coughed drily. "What? " said the lady sharply. "Not the Wal- ter Haselle who knew my brother once—about twenty or thirty years ago?" "The same." "That man?" "Yes." "Who had to" "Old story," interrupted the Baronet. "No good rakin' it up. Anyhow, the present Duke is a son of his." "What became of that Walter Haselle?" "Went abroad. Married out there" "Out where?" "Africa or Australia, or somewhere," said the Baronet, with a fine English contempt for the pal- try distinctions of strange continents. "Who was she?" "His wife? Don't know." "Ah," said Lady Georgiana, with a world of meaning, for even those who appreciated Sir Pur- suivant least had to admit that the people he knew nothing about had better be ignored. - THE DUKE 21 She was thoughtful for a moment, and then ab- ruptly she said— "That reminds me of something. You remem- ber another man called Gaye, who was also not a very creditable acquaintance of poor Frank's?" "Yes." "There was nothing in my brother's will about Mrs. Gaye." "Nothin'." "In a sense I was relieved. It proves that cer- tain suspicions regarding her relations with Gran- don were unfounded." "Never heard any suspicions myself," said Sir Pursuivant sharply. "No ground for 'em, any- how." "You may be sure, Sir Pursuivant, that / never credited them, or Miss Gaye would never have been employed as my governess." "Beg your pardon? D'ye mean to say she was your governess? " exclaimed the Baronet. "She is at present governess to my youngest daughter—little Caroline. I own I had qualms about taking her from such a family, but I am broad-minded, my dear Sir Pursuivant, and her mother made a really piteous appeal to me. Not that I ever knew Mrs. Gaye personally," Lady Georgiana hastened to add. 22 THE DUKE Sir Pursuivant reflected for a minute. "I shouldn't let the Duke meet Miss Gaye if I were you," he remarked. "The Duke of Grandon meet my governess!" cried the lady. "I think, Sir Pursuivant, that you may set your mind at ease on that point!" "H'm, I s'pose it isn't likely." "I certainly hope not," said Lady Georgiana warmly. Then she asked with a curiosity that showed itself even through her graciousness, "Have you any particular reason for suggesting this quite unnecessary precaution?" "Only this, that I rather fancy the less the Duke is reminded of that story we were speakin' of the better." Sir Pursuivant spoke as though there was some- thing behind his words, but his face had a look that warned his hostess to inquire no further. "At present my governess is on holiday," she said, with an accent on the name of the profession, "and when she returns, her place as usual will be in the schoolroom. She is quite aware that her situation is due to my charity, nor should I ever hesitate to remind her of that fact if it became nec- essary." "Gad!" said Sir Pursuivant to himself. "I THE DUKE 23 wouldn't change places with that girl for some- thin'." As he reflected thus, he arose and said aloud— "Must be goin' now, I'm afraid." "Won't you stay for tea?" "Very sorry, Lady Georgiana, must be goin' on. "You haven't seen my sister?" "Not yet." Again Lady Georgiana looked, one would say, relieved. "Ah," she said, with a smile as far over her face as it could spread, "I'm afraid Lady Roulett's drawing-room doesn't attract you, Sir Pursuivant. I wonder at that." Yet she contrived to put no astonishment into her voice. "Just goin' to see her now. Goodbye." The smile vanished; for a moment it seemed as though she were going to add something, but Sir Pursuivant was already bending himself towards her hand in the manner of the funnel of a penny steamer going under a bridge, so she only bade him a most gracious farewell. THE DUKE 25 This apartment was of more moderate dimen- sions than Lady Georgiana's, and was decorated after no apparent design at all, unless it might be that of withdrawing attention from the antiquity of the wall-paper and carpet by a lavish display of less expensive trappings. Lord Roulett, in fact, had little money to lay out upon anything, and what he had was generally put on horses. Presently Lady Roulett entered, and in her the observant could perceive another print from the Haselle plate; but this time with the first distinct- ness somewhat blurred. Her eye was lively and her features expressed all manner of trivial emo- tions upon any cause or none; yet in repose the stiff character was etched about her mouth. Talking of that family affection of which glimpses have al- ready appeared, a satirical observer had remarked that the three had but one heart between them— divided into thirds; and to keep them the better it almost seemed as if they had each dried their share. Her greeting, however, was warmth itself. "My dear Sir Pursuivant, how good of you!" she cried. "You'll have some tea, of course? You must; I insist! How kind of you to come! You must be so busy! Poor Frank, wasn't it sad? Such a successful general though — thanks to 26 THE DUKE you, Sir Pursuivant! You're looking quite wor- ried with all your responsibilities, I declare! How very trying it must be!" (Sir Pursuivant was looking precisely the same hard-featured, well- dressed man of the world he had appeared any day these last twenty years.) "And now do tell me," she went on, arranging herself irresistibly among a pile of cushions, " who is this new Duke?" "Gad! she goes as straight to the point as Frank himself," thought Sir Pursuivant. "No foolin' in the paddock." Aloud he replied— "Grandson of Lambert Haselle, who held a liv- in'" "Oh, yes," she interrupted, with a once fascinat- ing little giggle denoting now a charming womanly contempt for facts. "Yes, I suppose he's traced back all right, and is a tenth cousin, or whatever it is." "Fourth, once removed." "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter so long as he is Duke and we're all poor relations now! He, he, he! I'm so anxious to see him. Bring in tea, Parker" (this to a severe-looking individual who had just entered). "We've heard such extraordi- nary stories about him! Do tell me, are they all true?" THE DUKE 27 "I don't know exactly what they are, Lady Roulett." "Well, I mean, was he really discovered selling papers in San Francisco? And is it true that they had to put him in a hot bath to find out if it really was him?" "Nobody's bin out to see him," said Sir Pursui- vant, somewhat taken aback at this piece of intelli- gence. "Might have sold papers for all I know, haven't heard anythin' about it, though." "Another story says," Lady Roulett went on, her voice sinking and becoming very grave, "that he has been in London all the time—in the north of London" (this with a most expressive look)— "and that the story of his being abroad is only got up to account for the delay." "What delay?" "In his appearance in society." "But—er—how does it account for it?" asked Sir Pursuivant, much perplexed. "His time isn't up yet," she replied in a stage- whisper. "What time? 'Fraid I don't quite follow." "Holloway!" whispered Lady Roulett, with the most impressive dramatic effect. "Eh?" said Sir Pursuivant, thinking blankly of the pills vended under that title. 28 THE DUKE "Holloway jail!" "What!" cried Sir Pursuivant, nearly starting out of his chair. "Gad! Hang it, Lady Roulett, that's too much! Duke of Grandon in Holloway jail—never heard of such a ridiculous idea; it's— er—it's" Here the Baronet's language quite failed him at the notion of a duke in any jail short of the Tower. "Remember, Sir Pursuivant, / only repeat what I've heard, but that's one story. Other people say" But at this moment the tea came in, and until the severe-looking man left the room, Sir Pursui- vant had a minute or two to recover. It was only a brief respite, however. "Other people say," Lady Roulett continued, "that it really happened abroad, and that he's only' waiting to let his hair grow—which of course he'd have to do in any case." "Gad!" exclaimed Sir Pursuivant, staring at her as a bishop ought to at a blasphemous person. "Isn't it romantic? Most dukes are so common- place! This is your cup, Sir Pursuivant. You don't take sugar or cream? No, that's the hot water! Oh! and that's not the sugar, it's the but- tered toast! How very distrait you are, Sir Pur- suivant!" THE DUKE . 29 "Eh? Er, yes," muttered the Baronet abstract- edly, taking his cup and sitting slowly down again. "Roulett declares," his hostess rattled on, "that people are mixing up him and his father, and that they're thinking of the old scandal—you know what I mean, I muddle things up so—a woman al- ways does, doesn't she? And really perhaps there's nothing in all these stories. What do you think? "• "Can't really say." "Well, at least you can tell me what colour he is. I've heard so many different accounts." "What colour?" gasped Sir Pursuivant, with a horrid vision of a striped or spotted peer. "Really, madam, you know as much about him as I do." "Oh, well," cried Lady Roulett, with her most bewitching shrug, "if you won't tell, you won't, I suppose. And anyhow we sha'n't have long to wait now. When is he expected?" "About a month, I b'lieve." Lady Roulett looked for a minute as if she was calculating which contingency could best account for this space, and then with a candid and artless air she broke forth— "You must promise to let me know as soon as ever he arrives. Won't you, Sir Pursuivant? Even if all they say is true, I'm his fifth cousin—or sixth, /. 30 THE DUKE did you say?—and I must really show him some attention. You see there's really no one else; my sister is such a severe person! and so taken up with her husband's politics and things, she won't be able to do anything for him." Here Lady Roulett stopped to look serious and sigh, as if struck with a new reflection. "I'll let you know," interjected the Baronet. "Thank you so much. Only I do hope he turns out to be a respectable young man. You see, with a daughter just out, one must be so particular, mustn't one?" "Yes—most," assented Sir Pursuivant drily, ris- ing as he spoke. "You must really go, Sir Pursuivant? Just as I thought you were actually going to gossip! How provoking of you! Now remember you tell me as soon as this dear new Duke arrives; I'll promise to be a second mother to him! By the way, I suppose you've seen nothing of my sister lately?" "Just bin callin' there, Lady Roulett," said Sir Pursuivant, bowing his adieu. "Indeed! " cried Lady Roulett, without any em- bellishment of smile or shrug. "No doubt she is immensely interested too?" she added, with the smile coming back. s i THE DUKE 31 "Ah—er—seemed so. Goodbye." Sir Pursuivant abruptly went through his formal salute and left Lady Roulett reflecting. "Devilish kind of 'em both," he said to himself sardonically as he drove back to his club. "His Grace won't go wrong for want of motherin', it seems." CHAPTER IV T^HE blinded eyes of Grandon House looked out, * day after day, upon a quiet cul-de-sac of a street and a strip of green and rustling garden, see- ing (if they could see at all thus hooded) nothing but a few carriages and policemen and the most orthodox and respectable of passers-by. It had come to be nearly the middle of May by this time, and in the windows of all the other great mansions of this street there were lights at night and glimpses of life by day. Grandon House alone stood silent and forlorn, the solemn hatchment hung above a columned porch, shutters and sombre blinds where the people privileged to dwell in this great palace should have been looking forth upon the world be- neath them. Of all the houses in the row it was the greatest and the most imposing; there must have been acres of these muffled walls and rooms enough inside to house a battalion. Perhaps the six dead dukes paced the corridors and filled its void saloons while there was not yet one to dispute their rights. 3* THE DUKE 33 Perhaps they asked impalpable guests to unsubstan- tial banquets, and there were orgies and scandals of which the old caretaker heard not so much as a sigh of wind. But she was rather deaf and very short of sight, and the only folk she saw were Sir Pursuivant on his regular visits and the vigilant police who were always peering about the bars of windows and the fastenings of shutters. It had seen upon its stairs and within its rooms as many great and brilliant people as the house of any subject. One after another the first five dukes had maintained a tradition of princely hospitality, and all the names best known in the annals and the scan- dals of the time had in their day been gathered there. The sixth duke had entertained lavishly but spas- modically. For long intervals the mansion would stand empty, and then there would be a coming of carriages and blaze of music worthy of its proudest days. The very furniture of such a house must become imbued with something of a ducal pride, and, I make no doubt, the sofas and the pictures and the chairs were wondering in their horse-hair and canvas hearts who would claim them and what would hap- pen next. There were divans where marquises had sat, beds that had enfolded royal personages, tables 34 THE DUKE that still cherished the far-off pressure of long-de- scended elbows, painted persons that were them- selves ducal, and had looked from their unshut eyes on all these others; there was even a certain high- backed, deep-seated arm-chair, standing beneath a white coverlet of lawn in the great drawing-room, that boasted it did not so much as know a single commoner by weight. The memories that haunted Grandon House were all of the town, of the quintessence, the marrow, the spirit of London—the London of the Great. It was not the house where people were born, seldom where they died; no one would come to such a place to live if he could help it, and certainly not to rest. An aroma of dice and ruffles, of candles and stringed instruments, clung to each chamber. The solem- nity of its vast apartments was like the decorous de- meanour of ancient courtiers—you felt there was nothing truly grave or serious here, because so few events that were deeply human had ever happened in them. These Dukes of Grandon had been a hard race, sometimes shining with the brilliancy of cut- glass reflectors, always content to decorate their halls with the traditional gilding. It was impossible to imagine one of them regarding- this palace as a home, and if a duke's imagination could not com- THE DUKE 35 pass this, certainly no humbler man could think of it as anything but a huge and brilliant stage. Now, with the actors all away and the footlights turned out, dust on the scenery and covers upon the furni- ture, there seemed nothing in the whole vast height and depth of all its rooms to connect them with tears or laughter, or anything that real men and women do. In a fortnight the new Duke was expected. Would he come like the others, with a fanfare of trumpets, and fill the great saloons with guests? Or had the glory of Grandon House departed with the lamented Francis, sixth sovereign? The stage furniture doubtless wondered. The moon rose one clear May night and looked down on the lines of dead windows and the solemn, black-bordered hatchment. It was a little chilly, but summer was in the air and London felt alive. A great house further down the quiet street was all lit up, and carriages rolled to the door and police- men waved them off again. A few loafers had gath- ered to see the people enter, and now and then guests came on foot from the clubs and chambers of St. James's. Elsewhere the street was quiet and exclusive as ever, and the other houses towered up silently in the moonlight. At last there came a man strolling slowly with his •. 36 THE DUKE hands in the pockets of a long, light top-coat. He looked too respectable to be a curious loafer, and he was evidently not a guest, nor even, apparently, a man of any fashion, for at this hour of this season, when everybody of course should be dressed, he wore not only tweeds, but a peaked cloth cap. He kept under the railings of the strip of garden, look- ing across at each high house in turn, rather, one would say, like a sight-seeing stranger, had there been any particular sight to see. When he had come abreast of Gran don House he stopped; he looked up at the hatchment and the ranks of win- dows without a light in one of them, and the sight seemed so absorbing that at length he leaned his back against the railings and stared and stared as though this were indeed a spectacle. A vigilant policeman noticed him, and paced twice or thrice close past, eyeing his face with official observation, but the man paid no attention to him at all; in fact, he hardly seemed to be aware of his presence. At length, as though he were moved by a sudden im- pulse, or had settled a debate, he abruptly walked across the road and went up the steps. For a min- ute he stood with his hand on the bell, looking up at the door and the porch as if the silent pomp of these were something daunting, and then he rang THE DUKE 37 Nothing happened for a little, except that the po- liceman drew nearer, and he rang again, and yet a third time. At last an uncertain step shuffled on the further side of the ponderous front door, there was a sound of bolts and chains, and then it swung a little way open, and the face of the ancient caretaker peered cautiously out. "What do you want now?" she demanded be- fore the stranger had time to speak. "This is the Duke of Grandon's house?" he asked. The old woman puckered her face and looked at him in the manner of very short-sighted people. "There's no one living here," she answered, with an air of ending the interview. "It is Grandon House? " the stranger persisted. "Yes." He stepped past her into the half-lit vestibule, and then stopped and said quietly— "I wish to come in. I am the Duke of Grandon." Somehow or other it never entered the caretaker's head to question this assertion. The stranger pro- duced no card, gave no evidence of his identity; she was so near-sighted and the gas was turned so low that she could only see that he was young and rather .. 38 THE DUKE tall, and yet there was something in his voice and air as he announced his title that made his words sound true. She ducked with a motion that might once have been a curtesy, and began to stammer be- tween pleasure and confusion— "Beg your pardon, your Grace—I imagined you'd a bin the p'leeceman—beggin' your pardon, your Grace—they comes and bothers me sometimes —my heyesight not bein' as good as it used. Will your Grace come hupstairs?" "I merely thought I'd look in just to see the house," said his Grace. "I'm not expected yet. Yes, I might as well come upstairs." He spoke in a pleasant voice, tinged slightly now and then with a suggestion of the sharp accent of the colonies, but unmistakably well-bred, and with something care- less, rather off-hand, about it. He led the way into a wide hall. It was lit only by a single jet of gas that filled the space with shad- ows and only showed dimly a succession of fluted columns and the foot of a broad staircase. The car- pets were up and he could see that the stairs and the floor of the hall were of white marble. "It's rather dark," said his Grace, pausing to take a box of matches from his pocket. "Up this way, I suppose?" ""V THE DUKE 39 He turned to the stairs as he spoke, and, without waiting for an answer, struck a match and held it up. And thus the seventh Duke of Grandon mounted the great staircase of his house, lighting the gas as he went along with his own ducal hands. They came to a gallery that overlooked the hall, and now there was light enough to see a great ex- panse of ceiling above them, heavy with plaster work and gilding; and, down below, the marble columns and floor and the noble dimensions of the hall. Out of the gallery a wide corridor opened, and the Duke asked— "Where does this lead to?" "The drawing-rooms and reception-rooms, your Grace." He went down a little way, opened a door at ran- dom, and found himself in a long and stately room, and from this he entered another, and thence went through into a third, lighting a gas jet here and there as he passed. This third was evidently the great drawing-room. With no carpets or rugs on the floor, and the furniture pushed against the wall, it seemed to the young Duke the most colossal apartment he had ever been in. The style of dec- oration appeared everywhere the same throughout the rooms he had visited, but here the gilding and CHAPTER V '"THE Duke slowly paced from end to end of his gorgeous, desolate cavern, while the pictures on the wall and the sofas and the chairs silently studied their latest owner. He had taken off his cap and coat, and they could see a young man made, to all seeming, of ordinary flesh and blood, above middle height, erect, and of a light and wiry build. His face, they could further observe, was rather thin, with good clean-cut features that seemed as if they had been cast originally in a harsh mould and then refined about the edges. In his mouth some- thing of the hard, Haselle obstinacy might clearly be traced, but much more than that was certainly written there. His eyes were humorous and keen, looking straight and carelessly upon the world. This face was clean-shaven, and showed the play of some emotion as he paced there, of more than they had seen in any of the former six. Chiefly it betrayed now half-humorous reflection, and every now and then they hailed a glance that suddenly re- 41 42 THE DUKE called the casual cynicism of their last lord. Again for a moment the eyes would become quite grave, and then they felt that new blood had come into the family. For his part he paid these critics little enough attention at first. Up and down he walked a dozen times or more; occasionally glancing at this or that; for the most part looking right before him. But very soon his eye was caught by a portrait upon the wall. It hung in shadow; he turned his steps to examine it more closely, and there he stood con- fronting it for a while. On a gilt label he read that this was the present- ment of the late Francis, sixth Duke of Grandon. He was magnificently apparelled and radiant with orders, and if the brush had told the truth he must have been well aware of the fine figure he cut. Yet it was the haughty consciousness of a god; the vul- gar might admire him if they chose, they and their admiration were nothing to him. The painted eyes looked coldly into the living Duke's; the lips were curled with something that was between an Olym- pian smile and an Olympian sneer: he was indeed on a pedestal immeasurably above mankind. The two looked at one another till the face of the new-comer began to assume the same expression as his lofty predecessor's bore. He seemed to be chal- v THE DUKE 43 lenging him to a contest of disdain. Then suddenly he laughed, swept as by an effort the hardness from his face, and resumed his meditative pacing. All down the other side of the room there was a series of great windows hung with heavy curtains. The Duke at last stopped in his walk, drew aside one pair, swung back the shutters, and looked out. This window ran down to the floor and opened upon a wide balcony. He threw it open and stepped out. It was a perfect, early summer night and on this side of the house the moon looked down upon a fairyland of its own and fancy's making. Below the balcony there lay really just a London park with London trees and cabs and lamps and people in it, and the roofs and pinnacles of high London build- ings away beyond, but to-night there was an en- chantment on it all, such as frost lays upon a win- dow-pane. Young leaves rustled almost within an arm's length, faint stars shining through the top- most boughs, swift jingling lights glancing down among the stems. There were moonlit glades and a glimpse of shining water, serpentines of little lamps all through the trees, glistening roofs and peaks far off, and the merry hum of London in the air. The young Duke leaned upon the balustrade, and as he looked down thus from the heights of Grandon 44 THE DUKE House upon a world that seemed to welcome him, his eyes began to brighten as if the current of his thoughts were running faster and through a fairer country. He saw people passing in the roadway and heard the sound of their voices and their wheels rising from all the miles of city, and he knew that out of their millions there were scarcely a dozen who gazed from such a height. The old Haselle smile played for an instant about his lips; and then his eyes grew grave and the faint resemblance vanished. "Pooh! " he muttered suddenly, and then began to smile again, but this time youthfully and humor- ously. It was certainly a ridiculous freak of fortune to pitchfork him up into that balcony whence the world he had come from became simply the crowns of so many hats. There were wise and respectable heads beneath some of them, no doubt, but what was a Duke supposed to know of these? "It's goodbye at least to all the shabby hats," he said to himself, and hardly knew whether to sigh or laugh at the thought. By this time they had begun to dance in the great house down the street, and through the open win- dows he caught the strains of the band. "I know that air! " he thought, with the pleasant start of one who hails a tune. He began to hum it > THE DUKE 45 with the band, and then in a minute broke out into the words of the spirited chorus— "'E calls 'is mother his ma! Ever since 'e came into a little bit of splosh, Why 'e dunno where 'e are!" "I wonder whether he will," he reflected half- gravely. Then the band stopped playing and the Duke looked rather wistfully over the park. "Goodbye to the shabby hats," he repeated, "and to all the good chaps inside 'em." "Your Grace!" said a voice somewhere behind him. He looked round sharply with a sudden thrill at the title. The voice came from within the room. "Yes?" he answered, coming back to the win- dow. The old woman was standing just inside, evi- dently rather scared by his Grace's complete dis- appearance. "Yes? " he repeated. "Please your Grace, there's a gentleman awant- ing you." "Wanting me?" "Yes sir—beg parding, your Grace." "Who is it?" "He didn't give 'is name; he just asked for the Dook of Grandon." 46 THE DUKE "He asked for the Duke? " said his Grace, with rising curiosity. "But who knows I'm here? No- body even knows I'm in London." He was still standing on the balcony in the shad- ow of the curtain, and the old caretaker, being un- able to gather his Grace's pleasure from the sound of his voice, peered uncertainly up at the shadow. "You are sure he meant me?" "He said the Dook, your Grace." "And what did you tell him?" "I said as you was inside, and I'd hask your Grace." "Show him up," said the Duke. "Now what's the meaning of this?" he won- dered, as she went. "Does a duke make his pres- ence felt in the air?" In the silence that prevailed through Grandon House, he heard a step coming along the corridor; it passed first through one reception-room, through the second, and then the door opened and a man came jauntily towards him. "Welcome, your Grace! " he cried. "Jack Kavanagh!" exclaimed the Duke. "The very same!" said his visitor heartily, grasp- ing and wringing the ducal hand. "And I knew fine ye wouldn't have forgotten me. Faith, says I, THE DUKE 47 Lambert will take it ill, if he hears I'm in town and wasn't the first to offer him me hearty congratula- tions!" The gentleman who expressed this sentiment was evidently, from his voice no less than his name, of Hibernian extraction. He was a well-built, tallish young man, with a genial countenance marked by an expression of the most consummate confidence and adorned with a waxed moustache of an auburn hue. His whole gait, air, voice, and eye were redo- lent of a hail-fellow-well-metness that would have easily become sheer impudence in one belonging to a less seductive nationality. As it was he had a pleasant something that carried off what in another you would have called a rather vulgar rakishness. His clothes had evidently been fashionable some years ago, but were now a trifle the worse for wear. An adventurous gentleman rather under the wind you would say, and the Duke could have confirmed this estimate of his old acquaintance. Beneath his air of easy cordiality there lurked just a faint doubt of the reception he might get, and his eyes furtively watched the other's countenance. As for the Duke, he was lost for the moment be- tween surprise and memory. Here was a piece of that past that a few minutes ago he had thought 48 THE DUKE was gone for ever, standing before him in the draw- ing-room of Grandon House. It was as though the globe had suddenly slipped round under his feet and he was again beneath the Southern Cross, a penni- less, kinless adventurer, with the world an unopened oyster. "D'ye remember when ye saw me last? " said the visitor. "River in flood, claim a fraud, you starting off with the other boys and I on my own? How long ago was that? " said the Duke. "It must be a year be now, Lambert." "Only a year?" The Duke looked at his visitor and then round upon the great drawing-room. "It seems like ten," he added. "Ye've maybe forgotten things, then?" "Not had time yet, Jack," said his Grace, with a smile. "Not the flood, and how ye fell in and were so stunned ye couldn't swim" "And you pulled me out? " said the Duke quick- ly. "Perhaps I may do a turn for you now." "No more of that! " cried his visitor, with an air implying that this prospect was both novel and de- pressing, though at the same time his confidence THE DUKE 49 sensibly increased. "Tell me, Lambert, all about this wonderful thing that's happened to ye. Tis not every day me friends become jooks." "Simple enough really. The last man died and they had to fall back on me for want of a better." The Duke dropped carelessly into a chair as he spoke and thrust his hands into his pockets. His visitor's eye had still been watching him cautiously, but at this casual movement he knew of old it cleared and twinkled. "Faith," he said, seating himself too, " I see ye've not changed much yet." His Grace laughed. "A ducal manner isn't acquired in an evening." "Ye mean ye've only just arrived?" "This is my first night ashore. I didn't think a soul knew I'd landed. How in the world did you find me out?" "Well, Lambert," said his visitor, " to tell ye the honest truth I was not dead sure in me mind that I'd find ye at home after all. I've just returned meself, and it was this very day that I happened to read in an evening paper of your extraordinary good-fortune, me boy; so I just came round on the chance, d'ye see? Be George, and I'm in luck's way too, finding ye alone, with no fine company at 50 THE DUKE all! Just landed, ye say? And of course that ac- counts for it!" He looked round the room critically as he said this, and the Duke laughed aloud. "That accounts for it, Jack," he said, still laugh- ing. "I'd have had a couple of men in white calves to receive you if you'd given me time." "It's not that, me boy! Faith, it's not that, I assure ye! " cried his guest hastily. "It's yourself, the old Lambert, the best of good company, sir, I was wanting, and be hanged to white calves!" "Still," said his Grace, "I confess Grandon House at this moment is as like the inside of a hearse as anything I've struck for some time." He said this with a little touch of twang and a comical look round on his desolate drawing-room. "Tis a higher roof, though, than the last that was over us two, Lambert. D'ye remember the tent by the Wallaroo, and the hole in it the rain used to come in, and the old biscuit tin ye used to sit on and play your Jew's harp, and me singing to me concertina; d'ye remember all that now ye're a jook, Lambert? ". His Grace sprang to his feet and strode across the room. "The deuce take you, Jack, for coming to remind THE DUKE 51 me! " he cried. "Isn't it enough that I should be a damned duke in a damned dungeon in this damned city, with that damned canvas thing for company?" (he pointed at Francis, sixth Duke of Grandon). "I'm home-sick and heart-sick and Grandon-sick enough! Why do you remind me that there used to be a thing called fresh air and a man named Lam- bert Haselle?" His friend stared at this outburst of sentiment and profanity as though he could scarce believe his ears. "What the divil's up? " he exclaimed. "I was just beginning to deceive myself into thinking I was in luck," pursued the Duke, "and now you come with your old stories!" "But what's the matter? " asked his visitor. The Duke stopped his impetuous walk and broke into a smile, but it was a smile that went ill with so young and frank a face. "So you know what sort of a world I've been shied into? " he asked. "A fine enough world for you, Lambert." "It's a world which kicked my father into the gutter, kicked me into the gutter when I showed my face in it once before, and now is going to lick my boots and tell me that since I'm Duke of Gran- 52 THE DUKE V. don it is ready to forget that I was once the son of Walter Haselle. A fine world, Jack!" "I don't quite follow ye," said Jack. The Duke paced to the end of the room and back; then he stopped again and said in his ordinary voice— "If you like, I'll tell you what I mean. Twenty- six years ago the worst blackguard for his age in England lived in this house. He also was called the Duke of Grandon. It pleased him to honour with his notice a distant relative, my father, Walter Haselle. The ins and outs of what happened don't matter, but I'll tell you this, that his Grace at last wanted to be rid of his relative, and he managed it in a way that left my father without a character or a home or a friend. This world, Jack, that I've come back to stripped him clean at his Grace's nod, and he left it for ever." The Duke paused for a moment, and then went on in an even, almost careless tone that warmed at instants and was as suddenly suppressed. "He once told me that there had been a girl in his life; but she had to go too. He married after- wards, however, and when I was sixteen he sent me home to England. That's the only time I've been in this country before, and a little of it went a con- i THE DUKE S3 siderable way with me. I didn't know his story then. I tried to see something of my family. They wouldn't touch me with a pair of tongs. Nobody would." "Faith, and they didn't know what a fine chap ye were!" exclaimed Jack. But the Duke barely smiled. "I tell you this, Jack, that I'd have let them whistle for me long enough before I came to play the gilded duke, if it were not that I had business here." "Business? Ye mean the management of your estates?" "Not that." "Taking your position in society?" "Not that." "Begetting little jooks, perhaps?" "No, not even that." "It's a secret, then?" "It had better be a secret," said the young Duke, "for it concerns only myself and that painted man up there." He pointed to the portrait of Duke Francis, and again with an intimation of defiance. Jack smiled. "Ye won't talk like this for long," he observed. /■ 54 THE DUKE "Yes," said the other, " I suppose people will find out my virtues now and make a fool of me and laugh in their sleeves, and before very long they'll get me into shape and I'll thankfully let them for- give me for having once been a poor relation—and then I shall forget my business." "Nonsense, Lambert!" "It is sober truth. It has begun to happen al- ready. When I came into this room I began by telling my illustrious predecessor up there to stay where he is—with the devil. In ten minutes I was patronising poor ordinary humanity from the bal- cony of my palace." "And right ye were," said Jack. "What are poor devils like me made for if it isn't to be patron- ised by a jook?" The Duke's eyes grew humorous again. "Oh, I daresay it'll please 'em," he laughed, and then he broke out impatiently— "And what of the life I'm losing—the gamble, the fun of the world? Look at this infernal place!" He broke off suddenly, and made a sweeping gesture with his hand round the huge, unhomely saloon. Certainly at that moment it did not sug- gest much fun. "Faith, ye're hard to please," said his friend, '* THE DUKE 55 shaking his head. "Ye've the makings of as fine a jook as it was ever me good fortune to see, if ye just get used to the splendours of your station, me boy. And as for this gorjus apartment "—he rose and looked round on the huddled furniture and the vacant floor—" why all it needs is just a fine spread of carpet, or maybe Oriental rugs, and so forth, and this fine furniture scattered about in a natural kind of a way, and a string band in the next room, and lords and ladies sitting on the sofas, and a dinner of twenty-five courses inside ye—and there ye are!" "And there I am," repeated his Grace; it was hard to say with what significance. "Oh, it's a splendid house for ye," said Jack. Then his eyes began to twinkle, and assuming the most seductive smile, he remarked, "There will be fine callers here, Lambert?" "Ought to be." "Supposing we were just to open a bottle now, to drink the Jook of Grandon's health, me boy!" His Grace laughed cheerfully. "I haven't the keys," he said, " but if the old lady downstairs can give us a bottle, I'm ready for a drink." "Be George, then we'll try! " said his friend, and forthwith rang the bell. 56 THE DUKE "If it comes to the worst, we can always send out for it," he observed philosophically. They heard the old caretaker's steps echoing through the silence and emptiness of the house, and then one of those things happened by which fate seems to give a lead to mortals. N CHAPTER VI '"THE ancient caretaker, as we have seen, was short * of sight and hard of hearing, and the sudden arrival of a real duke had done anything but clear these faculties. Indeed, she said to herself she had never been so flustered in her life, and now when she came into the half-lit drawing-room, the poor soul could hardly tell the Duke from the ducal furniture, much less his Grace from his Grace's friend. She was sure he was young and tall, but then both these dazzling individuals unfortunately answered to that description. One who was standing up with a great air of command addressed her in the happiest mixt- ure of authority and condescension. "We'd be obliged to ye, madame, if ye'd be so kind as to go down to the cellars and bring us a bottle of champagne. That's the boy ye were want- ing, Lambert?" Evidently this must be the Duke. "Please, sir—your Grace, I should say—Sir Pur- suivant, he's got the keys." 57 THE DUKE 59 ye are now, just be as quick as ye can, like a good soul!" Overpowered with this instance of the humanity common to dukes and meaner folk, the old woman departed for the nearest bar. "And now, Lambert," cried Jack, "what d'ye think of me for a jook? Ha, ha, ha! Be George, that's the finest joke I've seen for many a day! Ye'll have to wear your coronet to tell us apart!" His Grace sprang to his feet; he was smiling to himself at some humorous idea, and his eyes danced with excitement. Before he replied, he paced has- tily nearly to the far end of the room, turned abrupt- ly, and walked as quickly back. "How would you like to really be the Duke? " he asked. "How would I like it? I tell ye, Lambert, ye'd hear no grumbles from me!" "Your Grace has then succeeded to the peerage," said the Duke. Jack felt impelled in duty bound to laugh at a ducal jest, but there was something in the other's look and voice which seemed to indicate that a mean- ing was hidden behind the words. "What d'ye mean?" "You have no friends here? " said the Duke. 60 THE DUKE "Divil a one north of the equator barring me old uncle in County Cork, and he's been dead for six years." "My own acquaintance," said Lambert, " is even less numerous. Not a soul knows I've landed; I came a fortnight before they expected me. All the witnesses I have to show are in my pocket-book, and they won't peach. Who's to know which of us is which?" Then abruptly he smiled and asked— "You would think that I was doing something for you in my turn if I made you a duke—even if it was only for a time?" "Ye'd be a combination of angel and conjuror, sir! Me a jook, too! Are ye lonely, then, in your exalted position, Lambert?" "For the next month, then," said Lambert, " you are Duke of Grandon." "And who the divil are you?" "Your confidential secretary, Jack Kavanagh." "We change places!" cried Jack, in rising excite- ment now. "Are ye meaning it?" "It's done! The change is made!" said Lam- bert, and then at the sight of Jack's face, burst out laughing. First Jack stared, then he broke into a roar of laughter, and then he stopped suddenly and asked— THE DUKE 6I "But what about all the other jooks and duch- esses and what not that are waiting for ye with open arms?" "They can embrace you, Jack. Do you think I owe society anything? or my family?" The abdicated Duke turned to the resplendent painted one, and with a wave of his hand, said— "Your Grace, behold your successor!" The new creation started and looked uncomfort- ably from the one to the other of these Grandons. "Be George!" he exclaimed in an odd voice. "Did you see it?" "What?" "As I'm a living sinner, the old boy moved his lips! I'll not do it, Lambert!" The Duke laughed. "He was only saying, 'Come and be damned along o' me.'" "I'm not jesting, I tell ye. His lips moved." "Look again," said Lambert, half-laughing, half- impressed by the fancy, despite himself. "Do you think that man would condescend to move a muscle for the sake of you or me?" Jack looked at the picture in silence. "Maybe it's the light that's deceiving," he ad- mitted. y 62 THE DUKE "Anyhow," said Lambert, "you can have him down to-morrow if you like." "Faith and I will!" cried Jack; then suddenly he asked, " And is it true that I'm to be Jook of Gran- don to-morrow?" "For the next month; while I am your private secretary." "But what are ye doing it for?" "Who do you suppose gets most fun for his money—the actor on the stage or the man who laughs at the farce from the stall? I do it because I want to. That's a ducal privilege." His friend looked at him up and down. "There always was something queer about ye, Lambert," he remarked. The Duke laughed and took out a pocket-book. From this he drew a little bunch of papers. "That's my claim pegged out," he said, handing them over. "For all practical purposes you are now Lambert Haselle, Duke of Grandon. You'll find a birth certificate and a letter from Debrette and one or two more things." He tore a leaf out the pocket-book, wrote on it in pencil, and added, "All you do now is to sign this and you are as good a duke as any of 'em. This is all I've said: 'Received of Lambert Haselle, 64 THE DUKE "I'm afraid," said the Duke in his careless yet distinct and half-arbitrary voice, "that we'll have to make one or two rules for this game. You mustn't appear at Court, Jack, and you mustn't take your seat in the House of Lords; it might be awkward afterwards. You may have as many pretty girls round you as you like, and make a fool of yourself as much as you please, only "—he hesi- tated and a certain look that the oldest of the ducal chairs had seen on more than one before him came over his face—" only do it like a Duke of Grandon, d'you see?" "As ye like, me boy," said Jack cheerfully. "Me private and confidential secretary, the honest and intelligent Jack Kavanagh, will prompt me when- even I happen to forget me dignity." "And now that everything's settled," said Lam- bert, " what does your Grace propose to do first?" "Had we not better get hold of me executor, eh, Lambert?" "Sir What's-his-name Debrette? Yes. I should think he'd start you all right. I've got his address somewhere. We'll send him a line telling him to call here to-morrow. Meantime I'll post you up in my past sins—you may have to answer questions and that sort of thing." THE DUKE 65 "Faith, yes," said Jack, " if I have to lie, it's as well to tell the truth while I'm about it. And here the old lady comes, begad, blessed be the clink of the glasses she's carrying! Lambert, me boy, I've a thirst on me worthy of any duke in the land. Just to think there's been a new creation in the peerage since we sent out for the boy, and we're going to toast another Duke of Grandon!" CHAPTER VII A T the precise hour of ten Sir Pursuivant De- **. brette sat down to the most appetising of bachelor breakfasts. Whatever hours he had kept overnight, at ten punctually he always breakfasted when he was in town. Any time earlier would make the day so confoundedly long, and as he had once happened to fix on ten, anything later would have been repugnant to his orthodox habit of mind. He was perfectly shaved and groomed, and at this hour of ease wore a luxurious smoking-jacket with blue lining and lapelles, a bit of colour that set in the stronger relief his long, unhandsome face and tight line of a mouth. Out of the window he could see the sun shining upon the opposite side of St. James' Street, and as it was a warm May morning, and the sash had been a little lowered, the sounds of the streets came in clearly and cheerfully. His little flat was as comfortable as you could find in town, almost next to his club, and within a short walk of Grandon House; and the life of its 66 THE DUKE 67 tenant had become so regular, even its irregulari- ties, and he knew the world so well, that—if one could imagine Sir Pursuivant entering upon so original a speculation—he would doubtless have been prepared to lay long odds against experienc- ing anything in the nature of a violent surprise on at least 364 days in the year. His man removed the cover from the omelette and silently withdrew; Sir Pursuivant deliberately helped himself to one-half of that perfectly pre- pared dish, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then his light eyes fell upon his little pile of letters. He took up the first, and suddenly a flash of expression came into them. He turned it over and over again; he looked at the postmark. "Gad!" he reflected. "I must have left some of Frank's stationery in the house; but who the deuce has had the cheek to use it? and how did they get it?" There could be no doubt about it; the ducal coro- net was plain to see, and the postmark was Lon- don. He broke the envelope, and then, for once in a way, Sir Pursuivant was fairly dumbfoundered. "He's come! The devil!' Kind enough to meet me at Grandon House—twelve o'clock— 68 THE DUKE come home by an earlier boat!' The deuce and all! 'Yours faithfully, Grandon'! Well, I'm" Sir Pursuivant dropped the letter and stared out of the window; then he observed a postscript— "' Please bring the keys.' He means to open the place at once, then! Gad! my duties have be- gun, it seems." Sir Pursuivant was not a man to remain long musing. He returned to the coffee and omelette while they were yet in their first bloom, breakfasted even more deliberately than usual, and very deliber- ately indeed selected and lit a cigar. At seven minutes to twelve he left his door, dressed and brushed immaculately. It was a per- fect morning and already hot in the sun. He paced slowly and gravely, nodding absently to an acquaintance or two, and wondering more and more as he walked. "Why the deuce couldn't he have let me know before he came? I'd have had things ready for him, and told people, and Gad, I wonder what sort of man he is?" There was nothing changed about Grandon House as yet; the blinds were still down, and the hatchment still hung there. Sir Pursuivant began to wonder whether it could possibly be a hoax. THE DUKE 69 "It's so d d rum," he reflected.- The old caretaker opened the door. Yes, his Grace was in the library. Would Sir Pursuivant walk in? Sir Pursuivant led the way, and then paused. "Announce me," he said. "Sir Pursuivant Debrette, your Grace." And with that the Baronet found himself in the presence of his Grace of Grandon. "Who's the other man?" was his first swift thought, and then he bowed stiffly and looked keenly at the seventh Duke. Already, with the resource of an adventurer, Jack Kavanagh had managed to dress himself in a high- ly presentable, if somewhat conspicuous, suit of tweeds and a pair of very bright yellow boots which that very morning had reposed in a shop in the Strand under a label marked " 7s. 6d.—wonderful value." (" They'll last till I get me first cheque," he had remarked.) His hair was polished, his moustache was carefully waxed, and his manner was overbrimming with a magnificent cordiality. "How are ye, me dear Sir Pursuivant? " he cried, grasping the Baronet's hand and shaking it heartily. "Tis a real pleasure to see ye. I hope I haven't disturbed ye too early?" 70 THE DUKE "Delighted to come, your Grace," replied Sir Pursuivant, shaking the ducal hand with the re- spect due to so august a member. "Very happy to see you in Grandon House—best congratula- tions on comin' into the dukedom." "Thank ye, sir; thank ye," said his spurious Grace, with much affability. "Faith, and I mean to enjoy it, too!" "I hope you will," responded Sir Pursuivant, with what might be read as an indulgent smile. "You're a young man, your Grace, and—er— that sort of thing, and—er—it's a great position." He shot a cross-glance at the third person, who had remained standing carelessly on one side all this time, with a half-humorous look on his face that the Baronet had instantly and instinctively re- sented. "Be George!" exclaimed the Duke Jack, "I'd almost forgotten to introduce me private secretary; Mr. Kavanagh—Sir Pursuivant Debrette." The secretary made a motion as if he too would shake hands, but Sir Pursuivant, ignoring this, treated him to his slightest bow. "My lesson begins," the secretary reflected. "Can't have this chap about long," thought Sir Pursuivant. THE DUKE 71 "An old friend of mine," his Grace went on; " a man who's stood by me side in difficulties and dan- ger, sir, has Jack Kavanagh, and a right good sort he is; me confidential friend, in fact, Sir Pursuivant. Ye may talk as freely in his presence as into me own private ear; we have no secrets, sir!" This was said with a gracious wave of the hand and that air of enthusiastic conviction that became his Grace so naturally; but Sir Pursuivant appeared singularly unmoved. "Very glad to meet Mr.—er" "Kavanagh," said his Grace. "Kavanagh," repeated Sir Pursuivant, drily. The secretary bowed his acknowledgment of this compliment, but it seemed to the suspicious eyes of the Baronet that even the inclination was ironi- cal. "And now," said the Duke Jack, "I'll be need- ing your advice, me dear Sir Pursuivant, for to tell ye the honest truth I've never been a jook before, and I'm not precisely sure how to begin, d'ye see?" "It—er—depends on what you want to do first. You intend to spend the season in town, I sup- pose?" "Be George, and I do! When I've exhausted the pleasures of London of course I'll be thinking 72 THE DUKE of paying a visit to some of me country seats; but we'll begin with town. Now, this elegant house— it's a trifle dismantled at present; I'll be needing servants and so on. We'd best begin with that." "I'll see to that this morning," said Sir Pursui- vant promptly. "I can leave it to you, then?" "If you please; I'm sure I'll be delighted to do anythin' I can." "Thank ye, sir, I'm much obliged. Then in the matter of money—I'll need a cheque or so." "I'll manage that," said the Baronet briefly. "And there's a guardian for ye!" cried his Grace. "For it isn't me legal guardian ye are, it's surely me guardian angel!" Sir Pursuivant smiled—an unmistakable smile. "Happy to be of any service," he answered. "Poor Frank—last Duke—asked me to do what I could; besides, I've nothin' much else to do." "By the by," exclaimed his Grace, as if suddenly struck with a thought, " while I happen to think of it, have ye brought the keys along?" Sir Pursuivant laid the bunch on the table. His Grace fingered them, glanced at his secretary, and then, apparently inspired afresh, remarked, "'Tis a warm morning, and ye've had a walk in the sun, X i THE DUKE 73 Sir Pursuivant; what d'ye say to trying whether any of these fits the cellar-door?" He winked a ducal wink that left the Baronet gasping, and turning to his secretary, began in his most insinuating voice— "Would ye be so very kind, Lamb" But at this point a most expressive grimace in- terrupted his remark. "Jack, me boy," he continued hastily, " me wits are wandering; would ye be so very kind as just to try the keyhole?" "Your Grace has only to command," said the secretary gravely, taking up the keys. "Thank ye, Jack; a bottle of champagne, Sir Pursuivant? Bring up a couple, as ye're at it, Jack. Faith, and I'm thirsty!" Nothing of this dialogue had been lost upon the Baronet. "His Grace is infernally polite to his secretary," he reflected. "Doesn't seem sure of the name either." The two bottles and three glasses appeared, and though Sir Pursuivant was not in the habit of drinking champagne at that hour of the morning, the cordiality of his Grace was irresistible. "Gad. Frank's best!" he said to himself, as he sipped his glass. 74 THE DUKE "And two bottles at a time at twelve o'clock in the morning, by Jove! I wonder what he'll take at three!," But it was surprising to see how quickly he seemed to grow accustomed to this heterodoxy. At first he sipped the wine austerely, glancing cold disapproval at the extra bottle, while his conversa- tion took a genealogical turn and he endeavoured at once to bring home the significance of a duke and the space that separated him from ordinary mortals, secretaries for instance. (" The man looks too devilish at home," he thought as he watched "Mr. Kavanagh" from the corner of his eye.) Gradually, however, his austerity began to melt. He watched the second bottle being uncorked without any sign of discomfort, and the sportsman began to rise to the surface. He hailed with actual enthusiasm his host's various proposals to keep a racing stud, a stableful of hunters, a houseful of guests in November, and the other schemes which the Duke Jack broached with his embroidery of untrammelled imagination. He even condescended to occasionally address the secretary, though that superfluous person, to do him justice, left most of the talk to the glib tongue of his Grace. At last he remembered the motherly sisters. "N * THE DUKE 75 "I'll tell you what, your Grace," he said. "You want to go out to routs and balls and all that, of course—see decent society, don't you know. I'm not much of a ladies' man myself, but you're young, and that sort of thing. Might as well get to know the best people at once. I'll send Frank's sisters round. What? Lady Roulett and Lady Georgi- ana; I told you all about 'em." "I'm sure I'll be most happy to receive them," replied the Duke Jack graciously. "Delighted, sir, in fact!" "And they'll be keen enough," said Sir Pursui- vant with a chuckle. "Well, then, I'll go and see about settin' you up decently. Very glad you've come. Good mornin'." He bent again over the ducal hand, bowed slight- ly to the secretary, and stalked out of Grandon House. "Gad," he reflected with a grin, as he paced along at a smarter walk than before, "this Duke's goin' to be a lively customer, or I'm mistaken. Two bottles of fizz before lunch—not a bad begin- ning Needs a bit of polishin' up, but he might have bin a lot worse—he's white at least, thank Heaven! How the deuce, though, did he get an Irish accent?" CHAPTER VIII (~* RANDON HOUSE had come to life again; ^-** the blinds were up, the hatchment down; a whole retinue of servants had arrived, from a re- spectable housekeeper and a portly butler down to a full complement of scullery-maids; the public rooms were already prepared for the reception of the distinguished guests who only awaited a cor- onetted invitation-card; the bedroom carpets were being laid; the prince's kiss upon the sleeping beauty's lips could hardly have acted more prompt- ly than Sir Pursuivant Debrette. It was only the day after his first call, and now the whole palace was awake. The Duke Jack had had another meeting with the Baronet, a brief but entirely satisfactory interview with his lawyer, another with a hastily summoned tailor, a third with an eminent boot- maker, a fourth with a renowned hatter, and to all these deeply honoured individuals he had shown the liveliest and most pleasing sense of his own position and it's distance from theirs. A larger 76 v THE DUKE tj cheque than he had ever seen in his life was in his pocket, and his generous nature was now chiefly concerned how he could most swiftly spend it. "There's plenty more where that came from, me boy, never fear!" he remarked to his secretary, as they surveyed the great drawing-room in its new aspect. The secretary's hands were in his pockets and a pipe between his teeth; his Grace had made no com- ment, but his new-born sense of the fitness of things already disapproved of a common briar in such sur- roundings. "I say," he answered abruptly, " I don't want to appear stingy or anything, but if you don't look out you'll have to mortgage the estates before the month is up. We'd better have some sort of an understanding about the money part." "Trust me, Lambert," said his Grace magnifi- cently. "I must live up to me position, ye under- stand. I know what's wanted, me boy." The secretary reflected for a moment. "I'll make it a couple of thousand for personal expenses." "A couple of thousand—for a jook!" exclaimed his Grace. "Ye're joking!" "Of course," his secretary continued, "I don't / 78 THE DUKE count servants and horses and carriages and things that are needed anyhow, and I don't include the sums generously supplied to the private secretary. A couple of thousand to paint things red ought to last for a month. If you want any more, I'll have to ask how you spent the last." He smiled as he said this, but his Grace knew Lambert of old, and he had more than a suspicion that he would carry out the threat. He had never in his life been able to account afterwards for so much as a penny, and this struck him as an exceed- ingly scurvy way to treat a duke. "A beggarly two thousand for the Jook of Gran- don—and me to account for it? Hang it, Lam- bert" "You needn't account for it," the secretary in- terrupted quietly, "unless you ask for more. As for the expenses of running the establishment, leave 'em to Sir Pursuivant, and tell him to show 'em to me. So entirely had his spurious Grace entered into the spirit of the part, that it took him a moment's reflection to realise that, like certain others of his nationality, he must rest content with a grievance. "As ye please," he replied, without any great ap- pearance of pleasure on his own part. . X THE DUKE 79 At this moment the door was thrown open, and the sonorous voice of the portly new butler an- nounced, "The Lady Georgiana Stock! — the Misses Stock!" The gracious lady had wasted no time; she had heard the news, insisted upon and obtained a brief interview with Sir Pursuivant, and furnished with all the news that he could give, she now sailed in, the first in the field. Her eagle eye took in the es- sentials at a glance. So here was the Duke; a most presentable young man—after a little training by a motherly relative. And there was that secretary, stretched at full length on the sofa, smoking a pipe. It was indeed high time she came. The secretary sprang to his feet and slipped the pipe into his pocket as the Lady Georgiana sailed up the room; her smile spread, her two daughters smiling in tow. "Ah, your Grace," she cried, "welcome to Eng- land! Sir Pursuivant positively insisted that I should call to-day, and after all, it is only right that poor Frank's sister should be the first to welcome his successor! My daughters—this is Julia, and this child is Maria; your cousins—I may call them so?" For a moment his Grace was actually embar- 80 THE DUKE rassed; his life of late years had not taken him much into drawing-rooms, and here he was suddenly im- posing upon a lady of fashion and title, a lady, too, who looked as though she were unaccustomed to be trifled with. He shook hands all round, mum- bled a greeting, and instinctively fell back on his secretary. "Me secretary, Mr. Has—Mr. Kavanagh," he said, somewhat hurriedly. The mother bowed stiffly, the daughters barely inclined their heads. "I continue to learn," thought the secretary. Lady Georgiana looked round the room. "You have indeed lost no time," she said. "The house looks charming already; but, oh, how it re- minds me of poor Frank! Though " (and here she sniffed delicately and looked straight at the secre- tary) " in his time this was not used as the smoking- room. Do you intend to convert it? " she added, turning to his Grace. "We hardly expected callers so soon," said the secretary, with a polite smile and quite unabashed. It gave her quite a shock to find this man pos- sessed of such a pleasant voice and apparently civil- ised manner, and so, presumably to show him cour- tesy, she stared at him in silence for a moment. THE DUKE 81 On his part he looked at her imperturbably, while the daughters' glances seemed to say, "Oh, mamma, don't answer such a person!" Mamma, in fact, did not answer the person; she beamed again upon the Duke Jack, and presently he found himself the object of so much interest and so many smiles that his assurance could not but return. And he had need of it too, for Lady Geor- giana, in the exuberance of her motherly sympathy, put a number of questions that only the readiest wit and imagination could answer. Where he had been, what he had been doing, how much he re- membered of England when he was here before, how old he was then, did he know so and so, or such and such a place, what adventures he had been through; these and similar inquiries were made in such a beneficent and interested manner that his Grace at length found himself in danger of saying too much rather than too little. On the whole he came out of the ordeal with more than credit—with distinction, in fact; and it is safe to say that few Eng- lish dukes have enjoyed such varied and exciting experiences as he of Grandon now retailed to his fair and sympathetic audience. The lovely Julia felt that she could have excused such a hero for being black after all, while the dear child Maria thought / 82 THE DUKE no more of that mysterious Irish accent; in fact, it became his Grace most admirably. The secretary all this time was left severely in the cold. Once he hazarded a remark to Miss Julia, but that lady (a fifth-season belle whose unquestion- ably Haselle features looked as though they might last successfully through five more) parried his re- mark with a deftness acquired at the expense of various ineligibles. Then he tried the more purely Stock yet fair Miss Maria, only to be repulsed less adroitly but quite as effectually; and both returned immediately to his Grace's narrative. The Lady Georgiana had indeed every reason to feel satisfied with her daughters—and the secretary with his ex- perience. The conversation was progressing thus smooth- ly, when the door again opened and the portly but- ler announced— "LadyRoulett!" Lady Roulett's gratification at seeing her sister and nieces already in possession of the drawing- room and Duke only displayed itself in a quick change of countenance followed by as swift a return to her natural graces of manner. She greeted everybody effusively, vouchsafing a win- ning smile even to the secretary. His Grace > THE DUKE 83 himself was evidently beginning to be charmed by her air as she welcomed him with the kind- est look and told him how pleased she was that dear Sir Pursuivant had encouraged her to call without further formality, when her sister, taking advantage of her first pause, cut in with— "And now, before I forget, I want you to prom- ise that you will come to my reception to-morrow night, Duke. You will come?" "With the utmost pleasure, believe me," replied his Grace cordially, throwing a glance at the fair Julia. "I shall send you a card to-night, though of course it is hardly necessary for a cousins' party." The Duke Jack blushed with pleasure; he began to believe he really was a cousin of these delightful people. Lady Georgiana observed the effect of her words, and she felt she could hardly better it. She saw Julia catch his Grace's ear and observed Maria loy- ally engross her aunt; it seemed to her a good mo- ment for having a final word with the secretary. A final word, for Lady Georgiana's views with re- gard to that person's tenure of office were already settled. / CHAPTER IX T ADY GEORGIANA addressed herself to the ■—' secretary with an air of what he internally designated condescending insolence. Yet he was not in the slightest dismayed; he had a feeling like a man in a dozing dream, who is all the time con- scious that the adventure can end and the puppets vanish whenever he chooses to awake. With her smile set, and looking as straight at him as though she were examining a witness, she began with the direct inquiry— "How long do you propose to remain in Eng- land, Mr. . I am afraid I did not catch your name?" "Kavanagh," replied the secretary. "Ka—? Kavanagh?" repeated the lady. "Yes," said the secretary. "Spelt with a K." Lady Georgiana stared for a moment at the no- tion that she could possibly be interested in the spelling, and then she continued— "And how long do you propose to stay in Eng- land?" »4 THE DUKE 85 "Till my departure," replied the secretary, with much politeness. "And when is that?" "I am unable to say at present." "You are a colonial, I understand?" "I have lived in the colonies." "And you became acquainted with the Duke there?" "I made my first acquaintance with his Grace abroad." "You have known him for some time?" "For a considerable period," replied the secre- tary, with the flicker of a smile. "Some years?" "Yes, for some years." "He brought you back with him, I presume?" "No, we arrived separately." "Ah!" said Lady Georgiana. "Then hearing of his succession to the dukedom of Grandon, you came to—er" "Congratulate him," suggested the secretary. "That is then how you met again?" "It was under such circumstances that we met." "This secretaryship is then an extremely recent post?" 86 THE DUKE "Just founded. You see, there were previously no funds for the purpose." "Then you induced him to create the office?" asked the lady, with barely concealed contempt. "And advance the salary," said the secretary, un- ruffled. "Do you think he requires a secretary, Mr.—er— Kavanagh?" "You had better ask him," replied the secretary, with perfect politeness. Lady Georgiana was fairly put out of coun- tenance for a moment, but the next, with even more of what the secretary heretically deemed in- solence, she had returned to the attack. "You realise the change that has come over Mr. Haselle's fortunes since you knew him last; the dif- ference in position that now exists between him and the acquaintances with whom he was previously on terms of apparent equality?" "I suppose a duke is rather a swell," the secre- tary admitted. To talk so lightly of such a dignity was a sacrilege that roused Lady Georgiana more than anything this person had said. "His place is now entirely removed from his former milieu, Mr. Kavanagh. He belongs to a THE DUKE 87 different world, and you will see how impossible it is that even with the kindest intentions he can affect the position of those who—in fact who are not born into the same sphere." "My experience of dukes and their milieu, or whatever you call it, hasn't been long," said the sec- retary, " but it strikes me a duke has only to whistle the tune and the milieu will dance whatever he wants 'em to." Lady Georgiana contained herself with difficulty, but still smiling her set smile, she replied— "You speak of society as though you knew it." "Not I," said the secretary carelessly, " I'm only beginning to make its acquaintance." "That is not so easy to make, Mr. Kavanagh." "You are rather particular, then?" "We are not promiscuous in our set, whatever some people may be." "I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me now and then," said the secretary, with a smile that would have disarmed any but the most determined. Lady Georgiana, however, was determined. In- stinctively she felt that this young man's influence upon his Grace was what she would have emphati- cally, if vaguely, termed, undesirable. She was a 88 THE DUKE shrewd observer, and already had judged that his Grace was peculiarly amenable to influences. "You propose, then, to take every advantage of your colonial acquaintance with the Duke?" "Every advantage I choose," the secretary re- plied. As he said it, Lady Georgiana was suddenly conscious of his faint resemblance to somebody. It was a passing look, something too in the voice per- haps, something she knew and yet something that eluded her. The odd thing was that it seemed sin- gularly germane to the room and the surroundings. The old furniture could have told her what it was an echo of, but they held their wooden tongues. "I hope to have the pleasure of coming to your house to-morrow night," he added, with another curiously reminiscent look. Lady Georgiana's breath was fairly taken away; her slightest snubs were usually quite sufficient; now she had apparently wasted a couple of dozen of the most unmistakable. "Indeed? " she asked, with a stare. "His Grace will wish it." "Will he, Mr. Kavanagh?" "Ask him." But Lady Georgiana dared not put it to such a test—at present. The secretary was looking at her V THE DUKE 89 imperturbably, and to her own surprise she sud- denly found herself incapable of even saying any- thing rude, so she abruptly concluded this extreme- ly unsatisfactory conversation by turning her back and beaming upon his Grace again. There was yet a point of tactics to be settled. Could she go now and leave Lady Roulett in possession? In a moment it was decided; the door once more opened and Sir Pursuivant Debrette was announced. "Gad, the mothers haven't bin long in comin'," thought the Baronet, with an inward chuckle. The two sisters rose together; they both felt their first hand was played; and Lady Georgiana was almost satisfied with the way the cards had fallen. One thing only rankled. "Julia," she remarked as they drove away, " that person Kavanagh is an impudent and vulgar man." "How ever did the Duke get hold of him? " said Julia. "He seems charming." "Isn't he," echoed Maria. "It was doubtless some foolish piece of generos- ity on his part. The man himself admits that he intruded himself as soon as the Duke came home and proposed that he should be his secretary!" "Good gracious!" cried the girls. go THE DUKE "Do you mean to say, mamma, the Duke allowed him?" "For the present," said their mother, with a grim look. "He is coming to-morrow with the Duke, he tells me," she added. "But we didn't ask him!" cried Maria. "I am afraid he will come all the same." "You should have told him "began Julia. "I.couldn't exactly forbid him, Julia," snapped Lady Georgiana, who to tell the truth was now be- ginning to reproach herself for a lack of firmness. "After all he isn't so very bad looking," said Maria. "I failed to perceive anything in his favour," replied Lady Georgiana, "and if he does come, I do not wish to be responsible for his introduction to any of my guests. If the Duke chooses to bring him, he must look after him." "Certainly," said Julia. "/ have no intention of introducing him to any one." "Nor I," added Maria. And thereupon the conversation turned to the contrasted merits of his Grace. Meanwhile, a highly indignant lady was driving in another carriage. Lady Roulett's opinion of her sister's conduct > THE DUKE 91 could hardly be contained till she reached her house, where by the greatest good-fortune she found her spouse at home to listen to her wrongs. "Fred!" she cried, " what do you think Georgi- ana has done?" Frederick Flutter, Lord Roulett, had been a handsome man of the blue-eyed, fair-moustached type; now he was rather " puffy," both in face and person; his cheeks were just a little too much suf- fused with a once becoming pink, his eyes were perhaps a trifle watery, and his manner was some- what effusive. Neither strength nor austerity, in fact, were very obvious; yet he was a highly popular peer. "Can't imagine," he replied genially. "She has had the indecency to bring both her daughters and throw them at that young man's head within twenty-four hours of his landing!" "Which young man?" "The Duke, of course! You may be sure Geor- giana had a sufficient motive!" "Hullo! You bin there this afternoon?" ex- claimed his Lordship, with more interest. "What kind of a chap is he?" "Oh, he might be worse. I think he'd do, if he was only left alone and had a chance. But just to s 92 THE DUKE think of Georgiana bringing both the girls to call upon a bachelor like that!" Lord Roulett laughed; the spectacle of his wife championing the orthodoxies against the encroach- ments of Lady Georgiana Stock appeared to amuse him. "By Jove, devilish improper! Ha! ha!" "I was disgusted, Fred," said his wife severely. "Do you know they are having him at their house to-morrow night?" "I must come. I should like to see the beggar. He's quite young, isn't he?" Lady Roulett knew her husband. She gave him a penetrating glance, and then mused for a mo- ment. "Yes," she said, "he is a young man, and I've no doubt, Fred, he'd be delighted if you would show him some attention. I'll introduce you to- morrow night—as early as possible. Only take care; you have Georgiana watching you, and she won't hesitate to warn him, if" "If what? " asked her husband, with a wonderful air both of innocence and dignity. "If she hears he is playing high—or anything." Lord Roulett laughed again. "What hawks you women are," he said. CHAPTER X T ADY GEORGIANA STOCK had the reputa- •*—' tion of knowing by sight a greater number of her guests than any other hostess in London. Few were fortunate enough to obtain cards for even her most crowded receptions who had not some excel- lent recommendation to her notice. Considering her husband's political eminence, this consistent exclusiveness speaks volumes for her Ladyship's character. The young Duke of Grandon could not have chosen a more suitable occasion for his debut. His Grace and his secretary rolled up to the door in a carriage and behind a pair of horses that had all been purchased that very morning under Sir Pur- suivant's able supervision. As the eight hoofs rat- tled on the roadway and the wheels spun swiftly and silently behind, the bright and noisy circumstances of the streets flitting by the windows, the two cock- aded figures upright and immovable on the box, the hearts within could scarcely fail to be a little stirred. It was not thus that they had gone about their anti- podean nights' entertainment. 93 94 THE DUKE "Begad!" exclaimed the Duke Jack, " this is the way to travel, Lambert! What would some of me friends say if they saw me now?" "Stop thief! probably," said Lambert, with a laugh. A few days ago his Grace would have laughed too; now he resented the insinuation. He was fast filling the ducal mould. As their steeds champed slowly up the string be- fore the house, they had glimpses of bright wraps and brighter faces, of white scarves and shining hats, passing through a little crowd of sightseers to the lighted doors. "Did you see the diamonds?" cried the Duke Jack. "Be George, they're all the real swells here!" In their turn they went up the strip of carpet on the steps, and the Duke of Grandon entered society. Lady Georgiana's was a spacious mansion, and it was already full to overflowing of guests. The two young men had never before seen such a kaleido- scope of colours and jewels, of fair faces and faces less fair, of shirt-fronts and waistcoat buttons, of flowers and lights and gentle perfumes and English voices. They struggled up a crowded stair, brush- ing close past the perfumes and the waistcoats, till THE DUKE 95 they came to their gracious hostess and a stout, white-whiskered gentleman whose responsible ap- pearance showed him to be no less than the Right Honourable John Sanderson Stock, member of her Majesty's present Cabinet of Ministers. A stentorian voice bellowed, "The Duke of Grandon!" and then, with less emphasis, "Mr. Havanner!" Lady Georgiana and her husband's reception of the first of these two guests must have satisfied everybody in the vicinity who wondered whether they had heard his name and title aright. An eddy of stir and whisper rippled through the rooms. He was really here, then—that mysterious, romantic peer! Already he had become the hero of a hun- dred stories. A dangerous person in love and war, it was universally admitted; a combination of sea- sonable lion and fashionable Duke; a man who might have lectured to enthralled audiences or ex- hibited himself at the Royal Aquarium, had his dig- nity permitted him thus to display his singular per- son and accomplishments. Any diffidence that his Grace might have felt at first, vanished swiftly before the flattering attentions paid him by the speech and eyes of every one he met. The Misses Julia and Maria Stock greeted him with -. g6 THE DUKE the gay familiarity of relations, dowagers smiled, dis- tinguished elderly gentlemen were politely hearty. He found words for them all coming easily to his tongue, and he soon perceived that so long as he spoke and smiled there was really no necessity to think of the matter of his remarks. Already, in fact, he had gauged the requirements of society. Unfortunately, however, a rose-leaf will here and there crumple even in the softest beds. A swift half-hour or so had flown by, and his Grace was thinking to himself, "Be George, I'm getting on famously!" when he found himself engaged by his host. His fellow-guests, judiciously recognising the privacy that two such personages would prefer, left them as many square inches to themselves as circumstances permitted. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and the right honourable gentleman embarked upon a little serious conversation. "No doubt we shall see you in the House of Lords very soon, your Grace?" he began, with an air of geniality blended with the gravity that such an allusion calls for. "To tell ye the truth," replied his Grace can- didly, "I was thinking of having me fling first be- fore taking up the duties of me position." Mr. Stock looked a trifle taken aback, but the THE DUKE 97 Duke Jack was too thoroughly pleased with himself by this time to doubt the appropriateness of any- thing he might be graciously pleased to remark. "I hope I am right in assuming," said Mr. Stock, "that you propose to follow those constitutional principles which have guided your distinguished family through the last two centuries? A Duke of Grandon on the other side would be unthinkable!" "Be George and I do! Me ancestors' policy is me own, whatever it was!" "Ah, your Grace is then entirely of our way of thinking?" "Entirely, sir! " cried his Grace heartily, trusting that this unqualified declaration would end the con- versation. But the Right Honourable John Stock has the reputation of never relinquishing a button- hole. "I am delighted, your Grace," he said cordially, "delighted, I assure you, at finding so influential a recruit. The late Duke was one of the mainstays of the party; your family influence, believe me, is very considerable. Your declaration will set our minds at ease on a point which has caused us some anxiety." This sounded like the end of the ordeal, and al- ready his Grace was making a movement to escape; 98 THE DUKE but the Minister was not to be so easily eluded. "At first your responsibilities will doubtless appear to you a trifle embarrassing," he continued, with an air of gravity happily blended with sympathy. "I blush for them, sir!" said his Grace, with a solemn shake of the head. "Ah, it is so with all of us who have inherited or who have attained to positions of—if I may say so —some eminence in our country. The higher we are placed, your Grace, the more we have to sustain." "Faith, it seems to me," said his Grace, " that the higher ye are the more ye need to sustain ye. Have ye had supper yet?" Mr. Stock waved his hand reassuringly. "I sup off the crumbs afterwards," he explained, with that humour which made him so popular a speaker at all civic banquets. And thereupon he embarked on a discussion upon the far-reaching policy and search- ing domestic measures at present being undertaken by the Government of which he was so distinguished an ornament. "And what the devil's been the matter?" ex- claimed his bewildered Grace at the end of it all. "I beg your pardon? " said the statesman in some astonishment. THE DUKE 99 "I mean," explained the Duke, " what happened before your reforms, sir?" "I—I am afraid I fail to understand." "Things must be in a terrible bad state, bedad, to need all this seeing to." This view of the question seemed to rather em- barrass the Cabinet Minister. "That—ah—that is hardly the point, your Grace. We are pledged to our supporters, to the country, to the empire I may say." "I see, I see," interrupted his Grace. "Well, sir, ye can put me name down for the lot; what me an- cestors have promised, I'll let you perform, be George! And there's a very elegant lady smiling at me—it's Lady Roulett, I'm thinking, so I'll have to be ending this most entertaining discussion, sir." And with that his Grace's button-hole was off. "A well disposed young man," Mr. Stock ob- served of him afterwards, "but his ideas are as yet a trifle rudimentary." Meanwhile Lady Roulett, having at last secured an innings, was making the very best of the wicket. His Grace having first been fairly entangled in her smiles, was then presented to his relative, the Hon- ourable Nellie Flutter. Towards Miss Flutter the Duke Jack at once felt the same kindly emotion 498335 IOO THE DUKE evoked by the Misses Stock—a cousinly sensation, no doubt. She was a bright and vivacious young lady, mistress already of the chatter of the season, and recommended to many by her aunt Georgiana's outspoken disapproval and the insinuations of the strict. "Be George, she's got some devil in her," his Grace reflected. In this matter his Grace's ideas were less rudimentary. Just as his Grace was beginning to feel extremely at home in the society of these new-found relations, they were joined by the florid countenance and heavy moustache of Lord Roulett. His lordship was so genial and friendly, that the Duke's previous conceptions of the haughtiness and exclusiveness of the English peerage entirely dissipated; While on his side Lord Roulett scented from the start a kindred spirit. They began to converse apart in a confidential manner. "D d slow, isn't it? " said his Lordship. "D d, begad!" assented his Grace, who thought it must, or at least ought to, be if such an experienced observer said so. "Had supper? " asked his Lordship. "Devil a drop—I mean a bit," replied his Grace. THE DUKE IOI "Gettin' dry? " laughed his Lordship. "Dry as a cistern! " said his Grace, with feeling. "No fun suppin' here. Let's come out," sug- gested his Lordship. "On the razzle, eh?" asked his Grace, with a wink. For an instant his Lordship looked a trifle dis- concerted, though more at the phrase and the wink than the theory, it seemed. Then he smiled too. "As your Grace pleases," he replied. They both laughed; his Lordship took his Grace's arm, and a couple of minutes later Lady Georgiana's reception was shorn of its brightest ornament. CHAPTER XI A ND what was the secretary doing all this time? ** He was coming to a few general conclu- sions which were neither exhilarating nor very com- plimentary to society and himself. At first he was amused by the crowd and the glitter and the hubbub of voices, and in his heart he hugged the notion that he was a prince in dis- guise, and that somehow or other all these folk must feel that there was something more in this stranger than the shirt-front and white waistcoat which met the eye. Then it was borne in upon him that what- ever they felt they certainly took uncommonly little notice of his Highness, and that he was, moreover, in everybody's way. Move as he liked, stand where he pleased, there always seemed to be an elbow in his back and the tail of a train beneath his feet. And they were the elbows and trains of strangers, who, he began to discover from their talk, thought differ- ent thoughts and looked upon things in different lights from himself. At least it seemed to him as THE DUKE 103 if he were jostling through the people of another star. Except his hostess and her daughters he had never consciously seen one of them before, and those ladies took no more notice of them than the others. He had never realised that such a thing would happen, and there began to rise in him a feeling of sharp antagonism to this they called Society. Poor Duke of Grandon! He began for a little to repent of his mad plot. Now and then he had glimpses of his imperson- ator bowing and smiling and talking in a circle of animated faces. "One only needs the label," he thought. It was while he was leaning against an unoccupied foot or two of wall, with his arms folded tightly to keep them out of people's way, and upon his face a look he had seldom worn before in his open-air, adventurous life, that a lady noticed him. Her face was engaging and clever, though no longer quite young, her costume beyond criticism, and her air entirely that of the world. She looked round her, spied Miss Julia Stock, and touched her arm. "Do tell me, Julia," she asked, "who is that young man? He reminds me so of somebody, and I can't think who it is." 104 THE DUKE "Which young man? I see a hundred." "The hundred and first for me at present. I am fascinated with him. Look, just opposite, with his arms crossed." "That? " said Miss Julia, with an intonation there was no mistaking. "Oh, that's the Duke of Gran- don's secretary—I think he calls himself that. His name is Kavanagh, or something." "How extremely interesting! I should like to hear the secretary's account of his Duke. Intro- duce him to me." Julia hesitated. "Do you really want me to?" "Of course. Why not?" "I'm afraid he isn't quite" "My dear, I am grown up! Nowadays I rather prefer people who are not quite" The lady paused and laughed. "Well, if you really want me to," said Julia, leav- ing her side and forging her way towards the secretary. Lambert obeyed the summons with considerable surprise. Had these people really some heart in them after all? "Mr. Kavanagh—Mrs. Louvaine," said Julia, and as quickly as she could fled from the person's presence. v. THE DUKE 105 Mrs. Louvaine made a few desultory remarks, to which the secretary replied in a random way, she thought, and yet in an offhand, pleasant tone that she liked for a certain freshness it possessed. The reminiscent look had vanished, and she was puzzled even to recall it. She suggested a seat; they pushed their way up a stair, and at last by a miracle of chance found two chairs. "Now," she said, " we can watch the animals and talk scandal." "I'm afraid," replied the secretary, "I don't know enough about 'em." "This is your first appearance in society?" "And, I'm inclined to pray, my last." Mrs. Louvaine laughed. "Don't talk nonsense! You don't know people yet, and you were looking horribly bored. They are really quite harmless, and a few of them are even amusing. I am sure the Duke finds them so." "If I were a duke, perhaps it might be different," said the secretary, and again for a second Mrs. Louvaine caught the expression she seemed to know. "Now you are cynical," she answered. "Please don't be; it's really so easy; and after all it is paying THE DUKE 107 "You talk as though you were an old fogey of— well, say of my age. You can pick up the chatter in three days." "And the polish and all that?" "If I thought you were fishing for a pretty speech," she replied, " I should snub you—especially as you took no notice of my opening just now; but as I don't think you are, I may tell you that you are highly presentable already. Anybody who really knows can see that you have the—what shall I say? —the well-born manner. In a week you could change places with the Duke, and play the part as well as he, I'm sure." Lambert glanced at her sharply, so sharply and curiously that she might have wondered if she had noticed the look; but she seemed to be thinking of something else. "Tell me about him," she said abruptly. "I am puzzled—and I'm afraid a little disappointed." "About whom?" "This new Duke of Grandon." "What do you want to know?" "To begin with, how he got an Irish accent and why he isn't more like his father," she said, half- laughing, and yet evidently quite seriously. "His father?" 108 THE DUKE "Yes; how old do you think I am? Forty, per- haps? Well, I sha'n't tell you how much more than that. I knew his father, you see." "What, old Ka ?" the secretary began, and then stopped with a little gasp. "Old who?" "I mean" "/ mean Walter Haselle," she said, looking very straight at him. "Has he never told you of his father?" "N—no," stammered the secretary before he quite realised what he was saying. Mrs. Louvaine gave him one little curious glance, and then went on— "You never, then, heard anything to—to his dis- advantage?" "I never inquired," replied Lambert, beginning to recover his wits a little. "You may possibly hear a story about him." "I'd rather not," said Lambert quickly. Mrs. Louvaine looked at him with an expression of interest that made him uneasy, but all she said was— "You are quite right. Why rake among the ashes?" She stopped, and then she added, "But if you should ever hear a false story, you may come to me for the true." THE DUKE 109 "Thanks," he replied; almost curtly it seemed to her. "The Duke bears not the faintest resemblance to his father," she said in a minute. "Doesn't he?" "Not the slightest. I should even call him com- monplace-looking." "Then," asked Lambert, " then was his father— handsome?" "He was like all the Haselles." Lambert still caught the look that made him ill at ease. "Would you like some supper?" he asked abruptly. "No, thanks," she answered, rising, "I must go on to another crush—to drink a second glass of society." She laughed, and her manner became light and animated as before. "Will you come and see me? " she asked as they parted. "I shall be delighted." "Come on Friday—will you?" "Thank you." "For certain?" "For certain," he answered, smiling. CHAPTER XII "TJEIGHO!" said the secretary to himself, •* * "what a rum show that was! It was dull enough talking to nobody, but supposing I'd had to talk to every one? Thank the Lord I'm only the secretary! What an exhibition of myself I might be making!" He was striding along Piccadilly, his good- humour quite restored. It was so far after mid- night that the long curve of the pavement, with its dip and the slope beyond, was but sparsely dotted with late walkers and the straggling waifs of the night. The moon was up, the trees in the Green Park were all in leaf, and the roadway still jingled cheerfully with cabs. It all felt very exhilarating to Lambert after the mob and the heat at Lady Georgiana's. "I wish his Grace joy of his admirers!" he thought. "Give me a room big enough to move in and the sky for a roof." 112 THE DUKE And so he smoked his pipe contentedly and hummed a tune as he swung along. He let himself into Grandon House with his latch- key and went to the smoking-room. Everything was silent and solemn; the retinue of servants had gone to bed and most of the lights were turned low. It reminded Lambert of his first entrance, only now the spectral air had gone and the atmosphere of the town returned. The smoking-room was large and a little gaunt, but already there hung about it a friendly odour of tobacco, and the chairs were made for comfort. He turned up the lights, and then threw himself down on a sofa to smoke for a while till the Duke Jack returned. As he lay there his thoughts went back to Mrs. Louvaine. "A good sort," he reflected. "I think she really means to be friendly." Then the thoughts took a more painful turn. "My father—I wonder what she knows of him. (By the way, I must warn Jack to be careful.) She looked oddly at me. Can she ?She can't sus- pect. And so she knew my father." The secretary's face clouded; then gradually the clouds passed away and the eyes closed and Mrs. K 'L THE DUKE 113 Louvaine and the Duke Jack and all the people and things of the evening began to mingle and behave in the most inconsequent fashion. The secretary was young and healthy, and he had, in fact, fallen asleep. Sleeping on a sofa lends itself to dreams, and Lam- bert had rambled for hours through the most re- markable places and in the most improbable com- pany, when his adventures began to take the form of a doleful sound. Presently this resolved itself into words and something that faintly resembled a tune, and then in a moment he opened his eyes. First he saw that the gas was burning very pale in an odd, clear light, then that the day had broken and the sun was struggling through the blinds, and finally that his Grace, the reputed Duke of Grandon, had returned. With a slow, unsteady motion, that peer was laboriously endeavouring to pour the proper depth of whisky into a shaking tumbler. The decanter would clink against the side, after a prolonged tilting a little spirit would flow out, and thereupon his Grace would hold it up to the light in various positions, sharpening his observation by tightly closing first one eye and then the other. All the time he chanted in a subdued voice that dolorous refrain— ,- ii4 THE DUKE "They're hanging men and women there For wearing of the green" over and over again, as though those lines summed up the entire sentiment of the hour. His opera hat was rakishly cocked on one side, and his top-coat being unbuttoned, Lambert could see that his shirt- front had become decidedly the worse for wear since he delighted the guests at Lady Georgiana Stock's. "They're hanging men and women there For wearing of the green, They're hanging men and women there For wearing of the green," sung the Duke. "They're hanging" But at this point his eyes fell upon his secretary. "Hullo Lambert, ol' boy!" he cried, with the delight of a reveller at spying a recipient for his con- fidences, "you sleepin' here? Dishgraceful! Ha, ha, ha!" His Grace shook with laughter for a minute, and then becoming aware of the fact that half his care- fully-measured draught had visited his trousers in the course of his mirth, he as suddenly assumed an expression of the strictest bibulous austerity. >. ■V THE DUKE 115 "Extraordinary shircumstance," he murmured, surveying the rivulet in grieved surprise. "Where have you been? " said Lambert. His Grace winked a wicked, leery wink. "Sheeing life, me boy," he chuckled. "Tish im- poshible for a man in me position to shee life in th' middle of th' day. You undershtand? Eh?" Again his Grace winked, this time a knowing, worldly wink. With an abrupt movement and a considerable splash he swashed the contents of a water-bottle into his glass, and with another he flopped into a chair. "Who have you been with? " asked Lambert. "The besht comp'ny in London, Lambert. At leasht, I started with 'em—afterwards there were othersh—fair comp'ny. Shee? Fair comp'ny. Ha, ha, ha! Undershtand? Fair—two mean- ingsh. Ha, ha, ha!" "And who do you call the best?" His Grace assumed an expression of as much dig- nity as the angle of his hat and the state of his shirt- front permitted. "There wash Lord Roulett—best chap in th' world, Lambert! Best chap bar none, sir! No airsh, no nonshense, no anyshing; just a fine English girrleman, sir, a nobleman I'm proud to call me Il6 THE DUKE friend. He wouldn't care who I wash—duke or Jack Kavanagh or anyshing; Roulett would alwaysh remain th' shame. Best chap in th' world, Lam- bert! You're another ol' man! Here's your d d good healsh!" If the secretary had any difference of opinion as to the constancy of Lord Roulett's attachment in every contingency, he kept it to himself. "Any more of the peerage seeing life with you?" he asked. Again his friend's face assumed its air of highly complacent dignity. "Lord Shtagger—know him? Musht introduce you. Dashed good chap. We call him Crishy. Lord Crysanthemus Stagger—yesh, that's hish right name. Musht be particular about titlsh, don't you know. Don't you know! Ha, ha! C'rect thing to shay, ' Don't you know!' often as possible —learned that to-night—hall-mark of fine English girrlemen. Don't you know! H've I made it perf'ctly clear?" "Perfectly," said Lambert. "Let's hear your adventures." "Adventursh? What price? Ha, ha, ha! What was I shaying? Crishy was there, yesh; and more good chaps, two more—or three? Two—three— ' THE DUKE 117 which wash it?—I f'rget—doeshn't matter. There was Captain Jonesh and Teddy Lumme—and Crishy—and Roulett—and Teddy Lumme—and Jonesh—shaid him before, though. How many's that? Doeshn't matter. Here's your d d good health, ol' man." This time his Grace, having drained his glass, showed symptoms of stopping his narrative to re- fill. "Steady! You've had enough, Jack," said his secretary, in that tone of humouring authority which one uses to the irresponsible. The voice and the familiar name seemed for a moment to come as a sobering shock to his Grace. "Eh? What d'ye mean?" he asked, the tum- bler still stretched irresolutely towards the de- canter. "You've had enough already. Go on with the adventures. Where did you go with Roulett and Crissy and the rest of them?" "Had enough! D n it, Lambert "his Grace began. "Needn't get rusty," interrupted his secretary. "Have your drink when you're through. I want to hear how you saw life." The humorous recollections of the evening re- Il8 THE DUKE turned to his Grace's unsteady head, and the irrita- tion subsided into a knowing chuckle. "Saw life, Lambert? Yes, we saw life, begad!" he said, with his utterance wonderfully cleared by the interlude. "Cards, sir, for two hours at me friend Roulett's club; swagger club, Lambert. Roulett's putting me up. Good chap, Roulett." "Where you lost?" "A trifle, Lambert; a trifle for a jook. I paid like a girrleman, sir, like a girrleman!" His Grace's voice thickened again as he recount- ed this act of apparently unusual virtue. "Then we had a bit of shupper, being devilish dry be that time, Lambert—shupper at the club— wash it th' club, or washn't it? Never mind; doesn't matter. Doesn't matter, ol' man, doesn't matter." He shook his head mournfully at this repetition, and his air became sad and thoughtful. "I'm talking too much," he said solemnly. "Time to go to bed." He rose and looked affectionately at his secre- tary. "Have another drink, ol' man?" "No, thanks." "Sure?" ^ i. THE DUKE 119 "Quite." "I'll keep you company if that's what you're 'fraid of. Quite sure? Very well." In the doorway he paused again. "Tell me, ol' chap," he demanded anxiously, " as a frien', quite candid, would you notice I'd had just a lill' drop, just a tiddlely too mush?" "I should," said Lambert. "That's a pity," sighed his Grace. "Jooks can't be too p'rtic'lar." CHAPTER XIII OIR PURSUIVANT DEBRETTE felt like a ^ man trying to play a salmon on a bent pin. Accustomed as he was to most of the contingencies about town, he was fain to confess that a duke with a brogue in his tastes as well as in his tongue fell fairly outside his experience. Matters of business his Grace treated in an offhand fashion which abso- lutely dismayed the Baronet. That a young peer should sow his wild oats promiscuously seemed natural and even laudable enough, but, hang it, playing pigs and whistles with the Grandon estates was carrying things a little too far. His Grace evi- dently regarded these historic possessions simply as so many sacks of sovereigns into which he could plunge his hand whenever he pleased. He did not seem to care where they were or what they con- sisted of. It is true he made airy and frequent references to "me country places " or "me ances- tral halls," but apart from these allusions he might for all the world have been an African millionaire returned from his mines. Everything was referred THE DUKE 121 to "me secretary," and this Sir Pursuivant liked least of all. "As if I was goin' to give an account of things to a dashed squatter," he said to himself. And so he held his tongue on the subject of business, and endeavoured instead to guide his Grace in his pleasures. But here, too, Sir Pursuivant began to find the pace too headlong for his stride. Lord Roulett and his friends set it, and hardly had his Grace started before even they discovered that it would take them all their time to keep up. "Talk about showin' him the way!" groaned the Baronet after the first night in his patron's company, " it's like tryin' to steer a runaway horse. I'd be dead in a week of this, confound it!" Once he even condescended to express his qualms to the secretary, but that young man ap- parently failed altogether to grasp the Baronet's theory of the refinements in oat-sowing expected of a duke. "Can't make 'em out, either of 'em," thought Sir Pursuivant; " Grandon's a little rough, but he seems a sportin' enough beggar in all conscience, and he'd polish up all right in time if he'd keep in a decent set. Don't fancy that Roulett lot, though. THE DUKE 123 the spell some women leave is like that of a far- away country. So upon an afternoon when Mrs. Louvaine had denied herself to the world Sir Pursuivant's name was announced. It was still early; she glanced at her watch and decided to see him. Whatever her engagement, a spontaneous call from the Baronet was a compliment she knew how to value. He was much less like a ramrod in her drawing- room than in any other, and he opened his mind with few preliminaries. "Gad! Laura, what the deuce am I to do?" said he. "If it wasn't that I'd promised Frank to see to the new man, I'd chuck the whole thing. Grandon doesn't understand, hang it; I can't make him understand." "Understand what?" "How to—er—behave himself and that sort of thing." "Or to misbehave himself?" Mrs. Louvaine suggested, with a smile. "No more he does," said Sir Pursuivant seri- ously. "You must remember, Pursie, that the toys are new. When he gets used to them, don't you think he will—understand?" 124 THE DUKE "If he'd listen to me, d n it! Beg your pardon, Laura, but, hang it, it's hard to talk quietly. Imagine the Duke of Grandon singin' 'What ho! she bumps!' down Piccadilly, and rot- tin' the policeman. He might be a medical student out on the spree. He walks into the bars and orders drinks like a" "An ordinary man," suggested Mrs. Louvaine. "Not like a gentleman, anyhow," answered the Baronet shortly. "It's a terrible problem," said Mrs. Louvaine softly, with a wary glance at her guest. On his part he was musing gloomily. Suddenly he broke out— "Can't stand that man Kavanagh." "Can't you?" asked Mrs. Louvaine quickly. "Why not?" "What's he want hangin' round the Duke and doin' nothing?" "Isn't he his secretary?" "Never writes a line. There's somethin' queer underneath." "There's certainly something—unusual about Mr. Kavanagh." "You know him?" asked Sir Pursuivant, rais- ing his brows with as much expression as you ever saw in his face. THE DUKE 125 "I met him at Lady Georgiana's," she replied carelessly. "Does he—does he remind you of any one?" Sir Pursuivant thought for a moment. "Now that you ask me—seem to have noticed somethin'. Who is it?" "I wondered too," she replied. As if enough had been said on the subject, Sir Pursuivant abruptly changed it. They talked for a little of other things, his eyes looking at her con- stantly whenever she turned hers away. Then, as if rousing himself from a reverie, he rose, bade her an adieu that was offhand in form, and stalked out of the room. He had hardly gone fifty yards from the door when he spied none other than the secretary him- self. They nodded casually as they passed, but the Baronet had never looked round after a man in his life, and seldom after a woman, and so it was that he saw nothing of a circumstance that would have considerably surprised him. For the secretary stopped at the very house he had left. "And so you have called after all?" said Mrs. Louvaine, with her brightest smile. "After all? " asked Lambert. "Yes, I quite expected you'd have become such 126 THE DUKE a society man by this time that your numerous engagements would begin to trip one another up." Lambert laughed. "No fears," he said cheerfully. "It's the Duke of Grandon they all want—not me." "And what do you do with yourself, then?" "There's a lot to be seen one way and another in London. I follow his Grace and watch the peo- ple for a while, and then I explore on my own ac- count. You see it is a long time since I was last in England." "Some years, I suppose." "Not since I was sixteen, and then I didn't stay here long." "Then you don't know England well?" "Very little, and I find the size of things has changed since I last saw them." Lambert was talking in a frank, particularly natural way he had when he felt himself with friends, for Mrs. Louvaine had charmed him at once into friendship. She smiled and watched him with a pleasure that was heightened by memory, and with a glowing curiosity, too. "How singular," she said. "That is exactly the Duke's experience, isn't it?" With a start Lambert recollected himself; he had ." V THE DUKE 127 clean forgotten that he was now Jack Kavanagh. His words suddenly became indefinitely guarded, and Mrs. Louvaine noticed the change. He sat there with the ease and the air of a man to whom these gifts came as an inheritance—a young Eng- lishman with a certain exotic piquancy; yet she somehow felt sure a fact, or perhaps a romance, lay concealed beneath that peculiarly unstudied manner. She was an expert in men; young men in particular were to her as an open book, but here sat one whose very boards she felt were covered up, and whose leaves slipped so fast through her fingers that she had hardly time to read a sentence. Mrs. Louvaine felt piqued; when she paid a man the compliment of being interested in him, the least he could do in return was to turn out the contents of his mind for her inspection. She had been the confidante of dozens, and she prided herself on the fact that none of them had ever said they repented of it. (It would be unkind to suggest that when repentance begins confidences possibly stop.) After a little she said suddenly— "Do you know how you first caught my eye?" "By the size of my shoes or the cut of my coat, I suppose." "Would you really entrap me, Mr. Kavanagh, THE DUKE i29 "You reminded me of some one else," said Mrs. Louvaine. "Another duke?" "No, not a duke." "Who?" "It was no one you ever knew—and after all these fanciful resemblances are rather absurd, aren't they?" Mrs. Louvaine laughed naturally, but there was a look of expectation in her eyes as if she wanted her guest to question her further. A strong suspicion crossed Lambert's mind; he hesitated, and then he shrunk back. He might find himself on perilous ground; certainly on un- comfortable. "They are amusing at least," he replied. "I shall hold my head higher now." And then he rose to go. After he was away, Mrs. Louvaine sat alone for a long while, wondering and puzzling for a key to fit him. All of a sudden she jumped up with her eyes bright and very astonished at her own thought, and she laughed softly to herself. CHAPTER XIV I CANNOT say whether Grandon House, that * hostelry where each duke in his generation had put up and where his honoured guests had come of nights, resented the visit of the impostor, but certainly society showed no sign of an objec- tion. Possibly an observant piece of oak or ma- hogany sees further through the form that presses it than the eyes of human upholstery, but then the house was perforce silent, and his Grace moved through its rooms with an assurance that grew daily stronger. Who should suspect that there was anything amiss? His exceptional career was quite enough to account for any aberrations from the customary ways of dukes. In fact, his peculi- arities became the fashion in a certain set. You might hear the most irreproachable young bloods endeavouring to speak with an Irish accent, and a certain eighteenth-century riotousness was quite the thing in the most exclusive circles. On his side, his Grace rapidly assimilated the prejudices 130 THE DUKE I3I and traditions of his class; he looked at life through the most aristocratic spectacles (or perhaps I should say eye-glass)—even Sir Pursuivant had to admit as much; he differentiated quickly between the people to be seen in company with and the people less desirable from a spectacular point of view, and he expressed the most heartfelt contempt for much that the uninitiated would have considered perfect- ly respectable. Towards men he had a hail-fellow-well-met air, combined with a certain amount of wheedling blarney that had become by this time too old a friend to desert him. The mixture, coming from a duke, made, as one can imagine, an enormous and affectionate acquaintance in a remarkably short space of time. Nobody could suspect a peer of such an assured and exalted position of slapping him on the back and tickling his vanity unless the said peer had really taken a violent fancy to him. Such an one had nothing to gain by pandering to those that were not dukes, and accordingly his Grace was fast achieving the most unprecedented popularity. It was with Lord Roulett and his coterie, how- ever, that the Duke became on the most affection- ate and intimate terms, and while his purse in- THE DUKE 133 criticisms on his Grace were to be heard oftener in the clubs than in the drawing-rooms. But there was almost always added a tolerant postscript; and then, before long, the Duke's eccentricities had be- come so much the fashion that men's standards shifted. Lady Georgiana Stock was not long in perceiv- ing the favourable impression produced by her young kinsman upon the ladies, and it further be- came as quickly evident that he was only too ready to take advantage of it. In fact, the Duke was a shameless flirt, and made no effort whatever to con- ceal his weakness. This, combined with his par- tiality for those terrible Roulett people, would have almost made her despair were it not that her mother's eye began to see signs that his Grace was disposed to at least flirt harder with Julia than with most girls. He came and went about the house as his inconstant fancy pleased, and if Lady Georgiana could not prevent him from going to her sister's mansion at night, she managed to make her own a hospital for his morning-after headaches. It is small wonder that the adventurer should begin to take himself seriously. There was noth- ing to remind him of the past, nothing to suggest that he was not really that orchid of the peerage 134 THE DUKE so cherished by society, nothing to recall the events of that first evening in Grandon House, no link with the old Jack Kavanagh; always excepting the rare moments when some word or tone of his sec- retary's marred for an instant the illusion. And as the days went by his Grace liked less and less these transitory reminders. He began to consider himself ill-used that Lambert should intrude his presence at all. The benefactor he had thanked and flattered so warmly but a week or two ago be- came as a millstone round his neck. He had the unkindness to warn his Grace that he must keep at least tolerably sober, he asked questibris'ilow and then or made suggestions, he dropped hints about limits to the scale of expenditure. And then the Duke was something like the man of whom Willis tells that " he was the mirror of courtesy. He was also the mirror of vulgarity. And he was the mirror of everything else." By every one else his secretary was treated as a negligable quantity, and even if he had tried his best he could not have helped treating him as a negligable quantity too. In the course of a week he had learned to adopt the attitude of society towards that independent and unconventional colonial. "Damned if I'd stand the beggar's coolness," THE DUKE 135 said Lord Crysanthemus, and his Grace (who had begun by lauding Lambert's virtues to the skies) agreed that he was damned if he would either much longer. "I've spoken to him, me dear boy, a dozen times," he declared, "and, be George, I'll have to sack him if he doesn't look out!" In a hundred ways he felt that Lambert was treating him badly; he lounged about the house as though the place actually belonged to him; he went with his Grace as a matter of course to entertain- ments where he was neither asked nor wanted, or stayed away when he was asked, just as he pleased; he treated people with an offhand friendliness or a cool indifference that made his Grace absolutely blush for him. In a word, he was offensively out of place, and what made it worse was that the Duke felt less and less inclined to admit to him- self that this secretary had the power of treating him ill. As for Lambert himself, a strong resentment was mingling more and more with his amusement at this topsy-turvydom. It was absurd that he should feel annoyed because people took him for what he pretended to be; but it was human enough. His very manner to the people he met, his casual, pipe- 136 THE DUKE smoking habits about the ducal mansion, were an exaggeration, a defiance. Mrs. Louvaine, who al- most alone had seen him friendly, and, as she thought, charming, puzzled and wondered to watch him with others. And all the time the shrewd eyes of Sir Pursui- vant were furtively following him, and his set con- viction deepening. He alone did not consider the Duke of Grandon's secretary a quantity that could be neglected. The world in general had almost ceased to take any note of Lambert, when one. afternoon it was startled into locking at him again. He had just come back to Grandon House from an unsuccessful call at Mrs. Louvaine's, his temper was a trifle ruf- fled at that lady's forgetfulness, for she had said she would be at home, and when he entered the drawing-room and found the Duke in the midst of callers, his manner froze at the threshold of the door. Lady Georgiana and her husband, Lady Roulett, Sir Pursuivant, and Mrs. Louvaine he saw were there. Mrs. Louvaine alone turned to him with a smile. "I'm so sorry," she began. "I quite forgot I had promised" She stopped, for the secretary was paying her no THE DUKE 137 attention. His eyes were fixed upon the group round the Duke, and his Grace met them with an evidently uncomfortable glance. "Then it is all arranged, your Grace," Mr. Stock was saying. "We can count upon you for a speech —say of half an hour." His Grace hesitated and glanced again at Lam- bert. "Er—certainly," he replied. "A speech—where?" asked Lambert uncere- moniously. There was a moment's pause and stare, and then the Cabinet Minister, who had learned the policy of being civil to secretaries, replied— "The Duke is going to address a meeting of our political league, at my special request. He ex- presses a little diffidence, but I am convinced he will make a most successful debut. What do you say, Mr. Kavanagh?" "He'll make a fool of himself," said Lambert bluntly. "He had better think it over." To say that his audience were astonished would be to give an exceedingly mild description of their sentiments. For a minute nobody answered, and then Mr. Stock replied with such an air of rebuke as he felt was certainly called for— 138 THE DUKE "I think, Mr. Kavanagh, that his Grace is prob- ably a better judge of that than his secretary." "What does his Grace say? " said Lambert, turn- ing to the unfortunate Duke and looking very straight at him. "I—I'll think it over," stammered the Duke. "I'll let ye know to-morrow." Again there was a pause, and as he saw the ex- pression on each face, the humour of it all struck Lambert so sharply and suddenly that from acting Oliver Cromwell he nearly came to laughing out- right. He felt that perhaps some explanation was called for. "His Grace doesn't know much about politics as yet," he observed. "He'd better wait a bit." This way of treating a duke apparently plunged everybody into still direr consternation. Lambert could stand their gaze no longer, so without further remark he turned abruptly and walked out of the room again. "Surely, your Grace," said the Cabinet Minister, as soon as he had recovered his breath, " surely this —er—this gentleman's opinion will not modify your plans?" "Well, ye see, me dear sir," explained his Grace, whose wits were beginning to return, though his . THE DUKE 139 face was still very red, "Kavanagh is an uncom- monly sensible fellow; I've a great idea of his opin- ion. We'll talk it over, d'ye see, and I'll write and let ye know." The opinion of the world concerning the Duke's secretary underwent a most marked transforma- tion. CHAPTER XV 'T'HE next day the Duke and Sir Pursuivant * went off racing. His Grace felt himself a thoroughly ill-used man. "Insulted be me own secretary," he reflected bitterly; and his luck that day on the turf was anything but consoling. In the evening he and the Baronet drove back to Grandon House together. "I never saw anything like me luck," said the Duke, very moodily for him; " I've dropped three hundred to-day, and two-fifty on Monday." "Your turn to win next time," replied Sir Pur- suivant, with the indifference one would naturally show for the trifling losses of a fabulously wealthy Duke. As a matter of fact he was rather sur- prised at the concern his Grace displayed, for he had considered him the most light-hearted of plungers. But the Duke's uneasiness was well- founded. "I'll never last at this rate," he reflected. "I'll 140 142 THE DUKE "Faith, it's very good of them," said his Grace; "answer it, will ye? and say I'm very pleased to hear from them and I'll come when I can." "Better go as soon as the season's over. Frank used to try and put in a week there now and then; not much of late years though. I always thought it was a pity to drop the custom, but then poor Frank wasn't much of a shootin' man, and he'd lots o' other things to do." "I'm not a shooting man either," said his Grace captiously. "All the same it's the sort of thing to do." "Be George, I'm not going to hurry away from town for any tenants." "No hurry; better not put it off too long though. You've had the place five hundred years, and they feel they've a kind of claim on you, don't you know." "I'll see to it," said his Grace carelessly. "Any- thing else?" Sir Pursuivant looked at him doubtfully for a moment and then jerked out in a casual tone— "There was another reason, I fancy, why Frank didn't go up much; there's some one there." "Oh," said his Grace in a tone of boredom he had found it useful to acquire. A THE DUKE 143 Again Sir Pursuivant hesitated, and changed his tack. "Ever happened to hear of the Gayes?" he asked. "Gayes?" repeated his Grace, without interest. "I seem to have heard the name. Begad, I know!" His Grace seemed to wake up at the recollection, and Sir Pursuivant watched him keenly. "Crissy Stagger told me there was a deuced pretty governess called Gaye at Lady Georgiana's." "H'm," said the Baronet. "What's Stagger know about her?" "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "Crissy met her there somehow or other; great luck, for old Lady G. keeps her pretty tight, I hear, and he swears she's the prettiest girl in town. And Crissy knows a thing or two, I tell ye." "Have you seen her?" The Duke winked knowingly. "Ye may bet a fiver, me boy, I sounded Lady G., but bad luck to it, the girl was off on a holiday. We'll see to it when she comes back, though." Sir Pursuivant was never remarkable as a par- ticularly austere moralist, but he seemed to dis- like his patron's tone. 144 THE DUKE "In your Grace's position I should leave her alone," he observed drily. "D'ye think I'd stoop to a governess?" re- plied his Grace loftily. "It's just a bit of fun, d'ye see." "I see," said the Baronet; "still I'd go some- where else for it. Did you say you ever heard the name of Gaye before?" "Never to the best of me memory. It's not this girl ye were meaning, then?" "It was her family. The late Duke was inter- ested in them. I'd like to speak to you on a matter of business about 'em." "Business?" asked the Duke impatiently. "Yes," said the Baronet imperturbably. "See me secretary, will ye? He looks after all that for me. I'll have to go and dress now." The Duke rose as he spoke and made a step towards the door. "Pardon me, your Grace," said the Baronet stiffly, "but there's just one thing I'd like to say. Er—that man Kavanagh—is he your man of busi- ness? Either he does it or I—not both. Sorry, your Grace, but I don't quite understand the ar- rangement." The Duke stopped and hesitated. - THE DUKE 145 "He—he wants to see things, don't you know. D nhim!" The oath came out before he knew what he was saying. Sir Pursuivant looked at him very keenly. "Why not—er—tell him to mind his own busi- ness?" he suggested, his eyes fixed intently on the unfortunate Duke. "I—I don't want to offend him, d'ye see, Sir Pursuivant. Good chap—old friend—and all that." He looked uncomfortably at his counsellor. "Offend him? Hang it—er "The Bar- onet paused, and then blurted out, "What's the matter? Can't get rid of him? You can trust me—er" "To tell you the honest truth, I can't get rid of him—not just yet, that's to say." "You want to?" "Be George and I do! " said the Duke fervently. Sir Pursuivant looked at him and then at the ceiling. There was an uncomfortable pause, and then the Baronet said— "None of my business, don't you know, but I'd have laid fifty to one something was up first time I saw the man. Known a lot o' men plagued THE DUKE 147 The Duke was fairly stuck. "I'll tell ye what, me dear Sir Pursuivant; just ye leave him to me to-night, and if I can't get rid of him meself, we'll lay our heads together, d'ye see? And now, be George, it's time I was dress- ing. I'm much obliged to ye, devilish obliged, begad." And without any further talk of business, his Grace was off. "I thought better of Lambert, I did!" he said to himself. "Putting me in a hole like this, begad!" In a rash moment his Grace had asked the Baronet to dine at Grandon House, and half an hour later the two faced one another in uncom- fortable silence. The Duke shivered under his guest's cold grey eyes through course after course, while the Baronet ruminated behind his long, impassive countenance. "Where's Kavanagh?" he asked abruptly. "Gone out," said his Grace; "I never know where he is." That was the only reference Sir Pursuivant made to their talk till they had gone to the smoking- room and each silently buried himself in a paper for a time. All at once he said— 148 THE DUKE "'V "You're going to speak to him?" "Who?" "Kavanagh." "Yes," said the Duke. "And you still want me to refer to him on— er—that matter?" "Yes." "'Fraid I must be goin' off. Good-night." The Baronet rose, nodded, and stalked out. "Heaven be thanked!" sighed his Grace. "Be the powers, how thirsty the old curmudgeon makes ye!" 1 CHAPTER XVI '""THAT same morning Lambert went for a stroll * in the park, and presently sat down upon a chair. It was pleasant under the trees, and the spectacle of the people, and especially of the horses, amused him now and then. His Grace was still abed when he left, and he had had no word with him since the astonishing scene in the drawing- room. A prancing pair of steeds approached, a stout lady and a pretty one reclining behind them. To the stout lady's face was affixed a condescending smile. "Here come my dear relations, Lady Georgiana and the fair Julia," said Lambert to himself. "By jingo, they'd be surprised if I hailed them as cousins!" All at once he caught the Lady Georgiana's eye. "She is actually bowing! I never had such a smile in my life! They are stopping—she's getting out—great Scot, she's coming to speak to me!" 149 150 THE DUKE The secretary sat so petrified with astonishment that he had hardly presence of mind enough to rise as the gracious lady actually held out her hand. Meanwhile Julia and the carriage slowly pranced off again. The Lady Georgiana, then, meant to remain with the secretary. "What a charming morning, Mr. Kavanagh," she began. "Do you often patronise the park? Pray sit down—we see so little of you, you know." As she said this with her most winning air, she herself sat in the next chair to his. Lambert hardly knew whether he could believe his senses. "And how is the Duke this morning? We must evidently come to you for the most authentic news of him." She positively beamed upon the secretary. "He was in bed when I left," said Lambert. "I fancy he's fit enough though." Lady Georgiana glanced at him curiously and respectfully. This offhand reference to a duke was very impressive, and all the more so for the obvious innocence of the secretary's intention. "You are really a most exacting secretary," she smiled. "I don't know what the Duke would do without his counsellor." There was evidently no satire here, and Lam- THE DUKE I Si bert became more bewildered than ever. A pleas- ing suspicion began to dawn upon him that Lady Georgiana had only been waiting for some evi- dence of his real merit to display the true kind- ness of her disposition. He laughed a friendly laugh, and answered— "You see even a duke needs some coaching when he's new to the business." "Precisely," said Lady Georgiana, with empha- sis. "I think that in many ways the Duke is much the better for a sensible friend. A young man suddenly placed in such an elevated position is naturally inclined to make mistakes at first." "Oh, he'll settle down," said Lambert. "I trust so sincerely; but I only hope that he will—ah—settle judiciously." Lady Georgiana began to assume an extremely confidential manner. "There are so many temptations for a young man in his position, Mr. Kavanagh. I should be so sorry to see my relative do anything foolish— that is to say, permanently foolish." "In his case I am certain it won't last long," answered Lambert. There seemed to Lady Georgiana to be some- thing behind this observation, and yet the secre- 152 THE DUKE tary's face remained impassive. She felt more and more convinced that for some reason he was a powerful factor. To the secretary's glowing wonder she dis- cussed his Grace freely and yet with affection, as if to an ally in the task of making an ideal duke of him. She also indicated the heartfelt and life- long gratitude which his relations would feel towards his secretary should he steer his patron successfully through the shoals of the town, and alluded to her husband's influence and Lambert's own career. "But I know what you young men are always waiting for," she said—" the right sort of girl to marry—isn't it, now?" "Haven't thought of it myself; at least not as a practical scheme." "It will come some day," she smiled, "and in most cases the sooner the better. Take the Duke, for instance—we couldn't wish for anything more fortunate, if she was the right sort. Ah, here is my carriage again." Lambert looked up too, and his eye fell at once upon the fair countenance of Miss Julia Stock. She was smiling at him, too. A second suspicion flashed across his mind, a suspicion much less v THE DUKE 153 flattering to himself, and for an instant Lady Georgiana was puzzled again by that faint smile that reminded her indefinitely of somebody. "Now I hope you will come and see us very soon," she said as she rose. "I am always at home on Tuesdays, remember." "Not quite worth while asking me to dinner, my dear cousin," said Lambert to himself. His lessons continued. When he got back to Grandon House he found a note from Lady Roulett asking him to dine, and another from the Right Honourable John Stock inviting him to lunch at his club. But for his conversation with Lady Georgiana he would have been much puzzled by this sudden popularity. In all the little rubs and the glimpses of the lining of things it had been amusing enough play- ing the part of humble and obscure secretary, but he felt with a spasm of disgust that he could never act this new role for more than a day or two. "The man with a duke to sell!" he thought. He knew that his Grace was going to patronise the turf that afternoon and would be late in com- ing back, and so towards evening he strolled off by himself to dine at random. 154 THE DUKE In the restaurant chance took him to, there were sitting three bronzed adventurers just re- turned from half the world away. So lately he was such an one as they! He caught fragments of their talk and heard familiar names and the re- tailing of circumstances that sounded like old friends, and his fancy took fire. Again he saw the stars that watch strange continents, and the people and the trees and the magic of their lands. The hum of the streets became the sound of the surge and he saw an illimitable horizon and tossing ships at sea. The charm of the open air was upon him again. "Get away from here, get away from here," the sounds seemed to say to him. "What are you doing in Babylon?" "But where am I to go, and what am I to do? " he asked himself. And then his fancy having roamed to the other side of the world, there came into his mind the memory of one lying over there in an unhonoured grave; and he remembered his "business." Now here he was wondering what to do with him- self. He rose and walked briskly out into the night, and turning westward, went through the life and CHAPTER XVII f AMBERT was ushered into the drawing-room *~* and left for a little alone with the lamp-light and the shadows. Then Mrs. Louvaine came in radiant for a night in the world. She looked almost young and very slender and bright. Hers was a face that made friends at a glance and charmed out confidence from man or woman or child, whomso- ever she smiled upon. Her dress, her air, her every movement gave a quiet pleasure like the sound of running water. She sat on a sofa half in shadow and Lambert dropped into an easy chair. "I'm afraid," said he, " I've called at an unusual hour." "It is all the more friendly of you," she answered, with an air of meaning all she said; in fact, her eyes looked very bright and glad to see him. "But you are going out." "Not yet; not for hours if you'd like to stay. One advantage of this society you are so down on is that it never misses one." 156 THE DUKE 157 "I am the more down on it," said Lambert, with his frankest air. "Alas!" sighed Mrs. Louvaine, "you are be- coming sophisticated!" "I'm becoming restless, as you see," he laughed. She looked at him with guarded curiosity. Some confidence was coming, she felt sure. "Is it managing a Duke that's the matter with you?" "I can't say he troubles me much." "I was introduced to him the other night," she said, "and I must confess" "Yes?" "Well, to be candid, I was even more disap- pointed with his conversation than his appear- ance." "Most people seem to like him." "Yes," said she. "I believe he slaps them on the back, doesn't he?" He laughed, and then abruptly he said— "You knew his father, you said. Perhaps that prejudices you." "Prejudices?" "Yes. You admitted you knew some story." "And why should that prejudice me? " she asked, her manner unconsciously warming. 158 THE DUKE "I know something of that story." There was a brief pause. Lambert was looking straight before him, while Mrs. Louvaine's face was shaded by her hand. "Do you know the whole truth? " he asked sud- denly. "Yes." "Would you mind telling it to me? You said you would if I asked you. The whole story—I have only heard parts." "If you like, I'll tell it," she said quietly, her hand still across her eyes. "You will believe it?" "Yes." "It has never been told before." She stopped and seemed to be thinking, so far as he could see her face at all, and then she began— "A long time ago, before you were born I think, and when I was younger than I am now, the present Duke of Grandon's father, Walter Haselle, got a commission in the Guards and came up to town. He had some means of his own, though he was never rich; he was fond of sport, fond of society, and fond of life altogether; and he was one of the most charming men I have ever known. But per- haps you know all this?" "Go on," said Lambert; " tell me everything." » THE DUKE I5g "Well, in an unlucky hour for himself he became a friend—if I can use the word—of the late Duke of Grandon's. He was one of the family, though a very distant relation, he was in the same set, and he was willing to lose his money. The Duke had only come of age a year or two before and already he was the most reckless gambler and the hardest hearted man in London; the very hardest, I think, in the whole world. He was too hard, I believe, to ever really care for women's society, though he had a bad reputation in every way, but he was not quite hard enough to restrain his passion for play and betting and speculation of every kind. After- wards he grew hard enough even for that, and every time he made a bet they say his calculations were so good that he scarcely ever lost. But when Walter Haselle knew him he was ruining himself just as fast as a man could. And yet it was always his object to play the rook, and he picked his friends for their willingness to play the pigeon." "What about Sir Pursuivant Debrette?" asked Lambert. Mrs. Louvaine's voice changed for the moment into a softer key. "He is one in a thousand, though you might not think so. Sir Pursuivant was the Duke's THE DUKE 161 Gaye, going the pace his Grace set. Oh, take care!" Lambert started at this sudden appeal, and Mrs. Louvaine laughed a little, friendly, apologetic laugh. "Forgive me," she cried; "but I have seen so much. "But to go on with my story. There came an extraordinary run of ill-luck for the Duke, and poor Walter Haselle happened to be one of the people who won from him. It was only fair—if any such things are fair—he was being ruined by the Duke and then it happened to be his turn to win. But the Duke, though he might be a great nobleman, was never a gentleman. He wanted money, and he determined—there's no doubt about it—to finish Walter for once and all. "They played in Grandon House. The Duke, Walter, Gaye and his wife, and one or two more people were there. I don't know what they played, I have a horror of cards, I have never looked at one since—well, for many years. Walter Haselle that night had one of those runs of luck that we some- times hear of. Nothing could go wrong. The Duke seemed trying to frighten him by the stakes they were playing, but always the Duke lost. The THE DUKE 163 "And ruining another," said Lambert. "Yes, even when it means ruining another! She took her husband's side. I think—I hope— they had not arranged it beforehand, though whether the Duke and Gaye had I cannot guess. "The Duke, I was told, turned very pale, but showed no other sign of any emotion. He simply said, 'I wondered whether any one had noticed it.'" Lambert gave a half-choked exclamation. "Then the other people, of course, took the Duke's side. He and Gaye had acted so perfectly that they almost thought they had seen something too. There was a short scene, but what could one man say or do? Walter Haselle walked out of the room beggared of fortune and reputation, and peo- ple never saw him again." She stopped, and there was a short pause. Then Lambert said— "He was engaged to a girl, wasn't he?" "There was—an understanding," she answered. "And she chucked him too?" "He gave her no chance. He went away." "The Duke is safely dead," said Lambert slowly. "But what became of Gaye?" "He died an absolute beggar." (' 164 THE DUKE "Then no one who was there can ever tell the truth?" "Only one." "Who?" "Mrs. Gaye." Lambert looked up quickly. "What became of her?" "She gave the Duke another opportunity of showing how fine a gentleman he was. On Gaye's death he generously placed at her disposal his an- cestral castle of Dunwishart, a half-ruinous keep, I believe, in the north of Scotland, and gave her such an allowance that she has been able to keep alive—though not to escape and tell stories." "Do you think she deserved any better fate?" "Of the Duke, yes. For herself I cannot judge her." "They were a pretty gang," said Lambert. "The present Duke doesn't know this story, then?" asked Mrs. Louvaine. "Only a rough outline." "I thought he seemed singularly thoughtless of his father's memory." "He certainly was unaware that there was any one alive who knew the truth. But I happen to know this—he promised his father before he died, * THE DUKE 165 some years ago, I believe, that if anything could be done to clear Walter Haselle in the eyes of those who remembered him, he should try to do it." "I am glad to hear it," she said quietly. Lambert rose and held out his hand. "You are going?" "Yes; I have kept you long enough from this gay world. Good-night. Many thanks." "Good-night," she said, and watched him going out of the room with an expression of kindness she had kept from her face while he was there. CHAPTER XVIII 'I"" HE years will conspire for a period to so hide * some circumstance that the memories of men have clean forgotten it and search has for a genera- tion been stayed. Then all of a sudden a single outspoken day will come and disclose, one after another, skeleton, motive, and name; as though Time had a conscience. Such a day had come for Lambert Haselle and the late Duke Francis. Hardly had Lambert en- tered Grandon House when he met Sir Pursuivant just leaving after his tete-a-tete dinner with his Grace. "Evenin'," said the Baronet in his chilliest man- ner, barely glancing at the secretary; "I'd like to see you for a minute." He turned without deigning to take further no- tice of him, and led the way into the library. "The Duke has referred me to you on a matter of business. He seems to want you to act for him." 166 v THE DUKE 167 "Well? " said Lambert indifferently. "It's about a Mrs. Gaye, a pensioner of the late Duke's. Nothin' was done for her in his will, but he wished me to try and make some arrange- ment." It seemed to the Baronet's sharp eyes that the secretary became more interested. "I'll go and see her," he said. "D'you know where she is?" "Where?" "Dunwishart—long way to go." "That makes no odds." "What are you goin' to do about it? " the Baro- net asked sharply. "I'll see when I get there," said Lambert casu- ally. Sir Pursuivant with difficulty suppressed his irri- tation. "When are you goin' to start?" he asked. "To-morrow." "I'll write to-night," said the Baronet; and throwing the curtest of nods, he stalked out of the house in a state of anger he had seldom been in before. "Don't know which of 'em is the fishiest," he said to himself. "The secretary's got the impu- 168 THE DUKE dence of the devil; and heavens, what a Duke o' Grandon! I'm sick of the whole thing." And then he remembered his promise to his dying patron, and for the sake of that heartless scoundrel's memory he shut his mouth tighter than ever and resolved to see the business through. Meantime Lambert had gone to his temporary Grace's study. That nobleman greeted him with a most effective sigh. It went bitterly against the grain by this time to derogate so far from his dig- nity as to plead with his secretary, but it had to be done, and instinctively he did it dramatically and thoroughly. "Lambert, me dear boy," he began in a melan- choly voice, "am I not your old friend; the friend who, by the grace of Providence" "Pulled me out of the Walleroo river? Yes, and I haven't forgotten it. What's up now?" "It's a small thing after all, being a jook for a week or so," his Grace continued in the same tone. "And mind, ye proposed it yourself. Ye remem- ber that?" "Perfectly." "And is this the way ye are going to treat an old friend?" . "This?" said Lambert, looking very surprised. k. " THE DUKE 169 "Rebuking me to me face before all the com- pany, and ruling it over me till they're all wonder- ing which of us is the Jook and which isn't." "Do you mean to say" "Faith and I do! Here's Sir Pursuivant this very day asking me who he's to take his orders from, and as good as saying he'll call in the police if I don't explain! And all the others—they're looking at me and asking questions; begad they are!" This ingenious travesty of the precise facts pro- duced an evident effect upon Lambert. "I'm afraid I have been thoughtless," he con- fessed. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to spoil sport. But then, Jack, you haven't always stuck to your part of the bargain. You agreed not to have any public performances." "Ye never said I wasn't to make a speech at all, Lambert. I'm a born orator, me boy, and old Stock seemed anxious for me to display me powers; d'ye see how it happened?" "Well," said Lambert, "is it understood now that you've not to make the Duke of Grandon any more conspicuous than you have already?—and you've done pretty well, Jack." "Right ye are. I understand." 170 THE DUKE "I can trust you?" "As ye would yourself!" "And the money? I'll throw in another thou- sand." "Ye will? And that's like your generous self!" "Of course you don't use my signature to draw any more." "What d'ye take me for?" "I thought I'd just mention it, for I'm going to leave you to yourself." "Leave me?" exclaimed his Grace, hardly able to feign regret; he was so astounded by these good tidings. "What's that for?" "I'm sick of town, Jack! I was thinking to- night of the old days, and the free life, and the never knowing what was going to happen next—and everything. And now I've found something to do." "Where are ye going?" "To Dunwishart." "That's me ancestral seat, ye mean?" His Grace said this quite unconsciously; he al- most believed that it was really his. "Yes. I'm going on business. You can tell Debrette you've sent me; and don't let him ask any questions." THE DUKE 171 "I see," said his Grace, with a wink. Mystery to him implied a wink. "When are ye to be back?" "I don't know." "Well, me dear boy, ye can be easy in your mind while ye're away. I'll do the thing as discreetly as ye could yourself. Ye can tell me man to pack for ye. Good luck to ye!" To himself his Grace smiled. "Now for some fun!" he thought. Then he felt that a graver attitude was neces- sary. "Lambert's treated me badly—infernally badly. What's another beggarly thousand? If he'd made it ten, now! Faith, it's the least he could do to leave me to meself." From which it appears that his Grace had a con- science—and that it was now satisfied. THE DUKE 173 it was worth while risking that to see such a pother going on around it. And yet if his Grace, thus looking upon the earth, could be supposed to retain any of that one fear which he had shown on his deathbed, he must have felt still more afraid to see his mem- ory in such imminent danger of being stripped of all its whitewash. Compunction at the spectacle of his poor catspaw being hunted down after all these years would scarcely be a fitting sentiment for so great a nobleman as the late Duke of Grandon; but the prospect of his own skeleton being dug up and carted through the clubs of St. James' was enough to make a shade turn paler (if indeed his late Grace had not rather become bronzed by this time). And, most shocking notion of all, it was principally contempt that his old acquaintances would feel. So far, then, Duke Francis may be imagined as smiling at the Grandon tangle; but now early upon a morning the Scotch mail was hurrying Lambert Haselle from the gay town, and the tale had begun to take another turn. A Grandon was set to catch a Grandon. As the day broke, in the grey of the early morning and the red of the rising sun, when the 174 THE DUKE people left in London were only just coming away from the routs of the season, Lambert, like the hero of the ballad, was crossing the border. He awoke and looked down from his carriage-window upon the open sea. Now it was shut out to a mere bright belt, and now, where the cliffs fell, visible throughout its whole expanse. He saw the sails of a ship and the smoke of steamers, and they seemed to him like old friends. As became a true adventurer, his spirits rose with the headlong speed and the prospect of some- thing doing away up the shining rails before him. "Off with another man's name and a chance of something happening," he said to himself. "This is better than a dukedom!" Yet as he watched the country flying past, his eyes had a look of purpose rather than amusement, for he felt that his adventures had taken a different twist. Further on, broad valleys began to narrow into glens and streams flow faster, till by midday he was among the heather hills. And then he began to discover that though he might go under any name he liked, there were unsuspected legacies in his blood he could never get rid of. For though he had only once before been north of the equator, THE DUKE 175 and of all the things his eyes had been accustomed to rest on, not the shape or colour of one resembled those they looked on now, yet he felt more than a mere traveller's satisfaction. This country seemed to have a place in his fancy awaiting it. And other inheritances were only biding their time, so that the adventurer was not so far removed from a Duke of Grandon as he carelessly imagined. Clear pools of summer rivers, rocky glens, and bare moors went by with the telegraph-posts, till in the early afternoon the train descended upon a strip of fertile sea-board stretched at the feet of the Highland hills, and Lambert at last stepped out upon an airy platform, where a flavour of superfluous time and an odour of scented heath and clover pervaded the wayside station. This was the old territory of the Haselles, and for the rest of the way he drove through his own lands, between the moors and the ocean, with crying plover for company. It was late afternoon or early evening (the days were so long up there that time was hard to sub- divide) when he reached a little cottage on the shore, with red roofs, a square weather-beaten church- tower, a diminutive harbour, and the masts of two or three herring-boats to give a salt, seafaring 176 THE DUKE air to it all. But it was something else that caught his eye, and made him suddenly realise that the "business" he had come home upon was ready to his hand. Just beyond the village he could see that the road and the coast parted company, leav- ing a wood between them, and there, above the tree-tops, those must be the battlements of Dun- wishart Castle. They drew up before a two-storied, blue-slated house, where a signboard informed the traveller he could refresh if he pleased, and with a touch of emotion he could not resist, Lambert saw that it bore the arms of his family. The landlord of this inn was a gaunt elderly man with a sombre face, who at first treated his guest with a dour Scottish reticence. But presently, as Lambert talked with him, his tongue was loosened, and what he said made a sharp impression upon the young Duke, come for the first time to the country of his fore- fathers. "Business slack?" said the gaunt landlord. "Aye, and it's like to be that so long as we have lairds o' Dunwishart like the last Duke. A hard laird he was, sir. Him that owned all the coun- tryside and got his money off it never looked near us these last twenty years. If he'd just come and THE DUKE 177 been friendly-like, his people wouldna have minded it so." "His people? " said Lambert. "Aye, d'ye not know that a Duke o' Grandon is a kind o' god here if he pleases, and a kind o' devil if he likes that better? Wha's lived in his house these eighteen years, think ye, sir? Just a wumman o' his!" "Mrs. Gaye?" "That's her name; and a gey poor bargain for us," said the landlord, with a dry smile at his own jest. Upon Lambert's asking what was the matter with her, he answered enigmatically— "The less right folk have to be proud, the mair pride they show; and the worse they come by their money the less o' it honest folk sees." Then Lambert ventured to ask him if he had heard anything of the new Duke. "It's early yet to judge," he said cautiously; "but I dinna like what I hear. Is he never com- ing to see us, either?" "I happen to know that he is." "And that's gude news," said the landlord, his sombre face seeming to clear somewhat at the prospect. 178 THE DUKE When the new Duke a little later walked through the village in the fading light and saw knots of men and women taking the evening air, he said to himself—" My people." He was bent now for the castle, determined to get through his unpleasant business as speedily as he might, and little suspecting what lay upon the knees of the gods. A short way beyond the village he came upon two grey lichen-grown pillars surmounted by the weather-beaten remains of heraldic monsters; the lodge beside them evidently long unused and the gates perpetually open for want of a keeper to close them. The wood within was chiefly of black, wind-blown pines, and through them a sandy, ragged drive wound into the obscurity of evening. As he went along it he noticed no signs of recent wheel-marks or any sort of attention, and the only things he saw besides the multitude of trees were scores of scuttling rabbits. Presently the wood abruptly stopped, and a grey battlemented lump of masonry stood suddenly before him. It looked so dark and silent and for- bidding that he stopped for a time in the edge of the trees, as if he were studying its defences. CHAPTER II WITHIN the old castle of Dunwishart shad- ows were deepening in empty rooms and the short summer night seemed to be drawing in as quietly and uneventfully as night after night had closed for so many years. Throughout all the dark pile, from the tower where no one kept watch to the dungeons where no one was impris- oned, there were only two rooms with any sign of life in them. Down in the kitchen the staff were still at work—the staff was just one solitary maid for all this baronial seat; while upstairs in the ancient library, overlooking the sea, two women sat. Of these, one was a little, middle-aged lady, looking older than her years by reason of the lines in her face and grey in her hair which trouble had brought her. She was very plainly dressed in black with a shawl about her shoulders, and she leaned back in her chair, leaving a book unopened on her knee. Her face had once been fair, but now for many years had worn a withered, fright- 179 THE DUKE 181 "Then we are dependent on the new Duke's bounty?" She looked up as she spoke, and her eyes com- pleted the portrait. Their glance was very straight, and they too courted further inquiry; though at this moment they were the soberest part of her face. "Utterly," her mother sighed. "We were left nothing at all?" "Not a penny, Marjorie." "And yet father had ruined himself for the Duke's sake?" "He left us beggars." "And so we can't be choosers," said Marjorie. "We seem to be just tied in a sack and thrown about like the Count of Monte Cristo." She spoke cheerfully, but there was an edge be- neath her words like a north wind on a sunny day. Singularly enough, this historic castle which they had enjoyed all to themselves for so long, with food enough to keep them alive and the privilege of showing visitors round and taking a percentage of the fees, had not apparently been sufficient to induce perfect content. "I wrote to Sir Pursuivant Debrette," said Mrs. Gaye presently. THE DUKE 183 "Who thought?" "The Duke's father." "Was he?" "Marjorie!" the poor lady cried, as if she had heard an accuser, " how dare you ask that?" "I know my father never wronged any one," said the girl penitently, "and I shall let nobody say so." Mrs. Gaye closed her eyes and fell back in her chair as though she had got a horrible crisis over. "Yet this Duke may think he did," she man- aged to say presently. "But surely he wouldn't try to punish us?" "You don't know these Grandons!" "I know Lady Georgiana," said the girl; and then she asked, almost as if apropos of her benefi- cent employer— "Do you think this new one will be as hard?" "He wouldn't, I'm sure, if he knew how de- fenceless we were. If he has any heart at all, he wouldn't! And it all happened so long ago! But, Marjorie, he won't deal with us himself." "What does he say?" "I heard from Sir Pursuivant to-day. You can see what he says." THE DUKE 185 "He must," said Marjorie; " we won't deal with this secretary!" She looked like giving battle to an army now. "When do you go back to Lady Georgiana's?" her mother asked suddenly. "Thursday." "Don't leave me, Marjorie! I am afraid to meet this man!" The girl came over to her and saw that she was in tears. "I shall stay till he has gone, you may be sure," she said. "And that won't be long, because we shall tell him at once that we got Dunwishart from the Duke of Grandon, and we shall only leave when the Duke tells us to himself." "He is afraid he may relent if he sees us." "Relent?" cried Marjorie. "What should he relent of?" "He is a Grandon!"! "If he were all the Grandons in the portrait- gallery I shouldn't ask him to relent—only to do what's right, and not to try and revenge imaginary injuries on you, mother." "My dear, I am afraid," said the trembling little old lady. "If he means to treat us well, why does he send this man?" 186 THE DUKE "Apparently he has sent himself," said Marjorie scornfully. Even as she spoke a step sounded in the stone passage, the door opened, and Mr. Kavanagh en- tered the library. A CHAPTER III A S her dreaded visitor entered, Mrs. Gaye's heart •**. for a moment stood still. Marjorie's last words, "Apparently he has sent himself," were in- tended to refer to the officious secretary; but they might just as well have meant that the Duke had sent himself, and for an instant they bore that sig- nificance for her mother. In the waning light, Lambert's face as he came into the room, with its composed, careless expres- sion, the under-lip slightly drawn up so as to make his mouth even more characteristic of his family, and the eyes apparently taking in everything they fell upon, violently recalled the two Haselles she had known—the late Duke and the present Duke's father. These reminiscent expressions only came transiently, but it was not till this one swiftly passed off that she recovered her wits and remembered that she was dealing with his Grace's representative. Lambert himself felt less composed than he looked. The sensations of entering as its lord the 187 i38 THE DUKE ancient home of his race had stirred him and made him hold his head unconsciously higher; and then the anticipation of this meeting was disturbing, and to cover the disturbance he put on, like most Eng- lishmen, an extra cloak of indifference. So that his demeanour as he came into the room suggested anything but that consideration Sir Pursuivant had implied might be lacking. He bowed to Mrs. Gaye—very coolly it seemed. For her part, she stumbled through a sentence about expecting him and then turned and intro- duced, " My daughter—Mr. Kavanagh." Marjorie bowed slightly and in silence. As for Lambert, he was struck dumb with surprise. No one had mentioned a daughter of Mrs. Gaye's; it had never entered into his calculations that he should find any other member of her family; and here now was a girl whose face caught his fancy as instantaneously as one or two faces in the world occasionally may. She imagined that it was a total blank, expressing, if by any chance it expressed anything, contemptuous indifference. But she was no mistress of her insurgent countenance; there were lights and shadows always there, and at pres- ent it bore a most engaging expression of devilry on the leash. THE DUKE 189 For a perceptible space Lambert simply stared at her. It seemed like a trick played upon him. As for Marjorie, her colour rose, she gave him a war- like glance, and then turned away. Inwardly a little disconcerted, outwardly more offhand than ever, the secretary sat down and en- deavoured to say something, but a more disjointed, uneasy conversation never was. Mrs. Gaye, timor- ously polite and distracted by her thoughts, made a few random remarks and then trembled lest, for some vague reason, they should prove compromis- ing. As for Lambert, he had always the indefina- ble air of distinction he had inherited, and his brief experience of London drawing-rooms had already put a smoother surface on his casual manners, but he was very far from being able, or for the matter of that from desiring, to make himself agreeable to all and sundry. To his present company he seemed merely curt and arrogant, a type of Jack-in-offke. To Marjorie the episode and the man were both intolerable. She contributed nothing to the talk, nor did she even deign to cast another glance at the secretary, but all the while she picked him to pieces in her mind as thoroughly as if he were a luckless dandelion. A chance remark and an unusual ex- pression or two told her that he came from the colo- 190 THE DUKE nies, and henceforth she read in him the very worst she had ever heard or read of those distant lands. He certainly wasn't a gentleman—that was imme- diately obvious, and within a couple of minutes it was equally evident he could never become one. He mentioned the Duke incidentally—in a pat- ronising tone, "as though he had made him," she said to herself. He looked rcund the room just as if he owned it, and to cap all, she was conscious that he now and then condescended to look at her. "I suppose I'm the first white woman he has ever seen," she thought. But as, she had seen ob- jectionable men before, she did not consider it worth while to return his defiling stare, and at last she turned in her seat till he could see nothing but her fair roll of hair and her slender back. All this time her mother was sitting in a seat of torture. It could only be fancy, she knew, but cer- tainly there was something about this young man that continually recalled the past. And he had come doubtless to rake among its ashes and fish out an episode—and then show it to her daughter. By herself it would have been bad enough to face the ordeal, but to have Marjorie learn that old THE DUKE 191 story was not to be endured. If only the Duke himself had come, she might have moved his heart, but this hard secretary, she felt sure, would relent- lessly carry out his orders. She saw once more that evening when the hus- band she worshipped had suddenly tempted her, and the Duke Francis, or the devil in his likeness, had smiled and said, " I wondered whether any one had noticed it," and their victim had aged under their eyes and walked out of the room and the world—she remembered vividly how unsteadily he walked to the door. Poor sinned against and sin- ning lady, it is small wonder she clean lost heart now. If either mother or daughter could have read their guest's thoughts, they would have had to ad- mit that at least he had some excuse for his manner. This evil creature he had travelled so far to confront proved such a poor, timid little thing, with plain- tive eyes, and an apologetic note in her voice, and little transient airs that gave a flavour of pedigree and died away again into silence and fears. How could he find it in his heart to wring her past out of a thing so fragile? She would surely break. And then this silent girl—what part had she in the story? 192 THE DUKE He cast his eyes round the room. There were dark bookcases and a sombre picture or two and a wide fireplace and deep windows where the last of the light was still struggling in and making a faint halo round the fair head that was turned away from him. It was all his. Then his eyes fell upon the family escutcheon carved over the chimney-piece, and he remembered the blot upon it and that he had promised it should be cleansed. Abruptly he sprang to his feet to say good-night, and at his movement the girl turned her head. He felt suddenly disposed to linger for a minute. "You return to the Haselle Arms, Mr. Kava- nagh? " Mrs. Gaye asked nervously. "For the night," said Lambert. "Perhaps you'll give me a chance of seeing you on business in the morning?" Mrs. Gaye cowered almost perceptibly. "If you wish it," she managed to reply. "I'm afraid it's necessary," said Lambert. "I also want to see the castle," he added. He did not mean to be peremptory, but Marjorie con- ceived an insult in his tone. "You will still find it here," she said, barely glancing at him as she spoke. Lambert turned his closest gaze upon her; her THE DUKE 193 mother gasped; but she just raised her chin a little and looked at neither of them. Then the deuce must have prompted him to ask— "Do you show visitors round?" He could not know what tender ground he was treading on, and that this duty had been the bitter- est pill their late patron had made them swallow. But Marjorie had scented a second insult. "Did your master tell you to employ us?" she asked. "Marjorie!" cried her mother, but the secretary seemed unmoved. "He gave me a free hand," he answered, and with the slightest of bows went out. . "Marjorie, Marjorie!" cried her mother. "What have you done?" "Only what you ought to have done yourself, mother! Does he think that because he is the Duke of Grandon's servant he can order us to do the Duke's business with him and show him the Duke's castle as if we were servants too?" Mrs. Gaye only seemed the more frightened by this outburst. "But what will the Duke say? " she asked. "Whatever the Duke is graciously pleased to say—all the bad language the Duke graciously l$4 THE DUKE knows—anything the Duke graciously likes! Only let him say it himself." "Marjorie, what is the matter with you?" "I have stood it long enough!" cried the girl. "I know that I'm strapped up like a mummy so that any one can do anything with me that any one takes into their patronising heads. I've taught their brats, but I'm not going to be insulted by their servants!" Mrs. Gaye was silent. She had never heard any- thing like this before and the violence of it terrified her. It was the pent-up pride of years suddenly bursting its dam. For a little Marjorie stood by the window saying nothing more, and when at last she turned and came to her mother, it was a very pale face she showed. But she saw that her mother's was still paler. "Mother," she said, "one thing is settled. Mr. K. is not going to bother you. You can leave him to me." "I dare not." "Don't you think I can defend myself?" "It isn't yourself Marjorie, it is your father— and me, he will attack." THE DUKE 195 "I should rather like to see him," said Marjorie quietly. And so the first day of the two Grandons' busi- ness came to an end, and soon there was nothing stirring but the pines round the house and the tide on the shore. CHAPTER IV HTHE next morning Lambert returned to the cas- tle to be received by Miss Marjorie alone. She was dressed in the simplest and severest grey, and even to the secretary's uneducated eye it seemed as if her hair had a smoothed-out and plas- tered-down appearance that took something from her radiance, though it added the more character. The truth was that this was a calculated effect, and it says much for the resentment he had inspired in her mind that preparatory to spending a morning with a man she should have been at the pains to make herself as forbidding as she could. "He certainly won't look at me now," she thought, as she surveyed herself in the mirror; and then with an instinctive movement of her hands, permitted just a suggestion of waviness to return to her ill-treated locks. The touch wrought magic; she looked at herself again, and really the effect was not unbecomingly puritanical. "I must try doing it like this," she reflected. * 196 THE DUKE 197 And then to make amends for this little relapse, she resolved that at all events no waviness should be imparted to her face. Last thing before she left her room she set it like a barometer—" cold winds, and very stormy "—and maintaining this austere expression, came down to daunt her visitor. After all this trouble it was irritating to find that he looked less depressed than* he ought. She de- termined to be none the more polite on that ac- count. "My mother is confined to her room," she said. "She cannot receive you." "I can wait," the secretary replied. As he followed this by no inquiries regarding Mrs. Gaye's malady, but simply stood staring ab- sently round the old library, she asked him if he was instructed to go through the castle. He admitted that he was, and then abruptly said— "Do you come too?" "It is my business," she answered. The castle of Dunwishart was simply a massive, feudal keep with a few later additions, none of them on a commodious scale, and all by this time as weathered without and ancient-'ooking within as the part first built. A portion of it was unfurnished THE DUKE 199 seemed to have impressed upon all the generations of Haselles whose feet had worn them since. "The hall," said the guide, "where the noble family who sent you took off their helmets—at least they have graciously hung them up here." And then she turned away, and let him look for himself. It was an ancient, hewn-stone space, filled with the morning sunshine and old suggestions. The roof was low and smoked with the fires of centuries, the floor stone-flagged and laid here and there with rugs of skin, the fireplace an immense and generous cavern, the walls eight feet thick, pierced with slits of windows and hung with weapons and antlered heads. Each black chair and settle and the huge round table looked as though they had been brought in by giants, and placed there to stay for ever. There was nothing here of the gay town; no gilding or paint or mirrors. Lambert went up to the huge fireplace. "It looks old enough," he remarked, by way of breaking the silence. "It is considered quite old enough," said his guide. She was standing by the further wall, her hands behind her back, looking out of one of the arrow 200 THE DUKE slits. She never glanced at him as she spoke, but her manner was not actively impolite, merely quiet- ly indifferent. He thought her the incarnation of several things. Across one end of the hall stretched an open work black oak screen dividing it after an ancient fashion from a sombre room where once people banqueted. "And this is where the noble family dined," she said. "Do you ever use it?" he asked. "You can assure his Grace the Duke of Gran- don," she replied, "that we have not had the pre- sumption." Next she led him by tortuous up and down ways through the rest of the show part of the castle. He said nothing more, and apparently paid her no further attention. Yet once or twice the thought crossed his mind that her fair head, despite its se- verity, served wonderfully to set off this old-world place. "I suppose you were told to inspect every- thing?" she remarked at length. "Everything." "Does the Duke propose to come here him- self?" 202 THE DUKE "You'd fail." "At least I shouldn't run him down before stran- gers." "I have used the same expressions in his hear- ing," said the secretary. His guide gave him a look as much as to say, "I'd like to see you," and without further comment led him to the last thing there was to see—the por- trait-gallery. "The portraits of the noble family," she said. It was a long room running from side to side of the old keep and empty of everything but dead Ha- selles. They had hung in their gilded frames year in and year out till now they had taken such com- plete possession of the very air of the gallery that their descendant felt it belonged to them and not to him. He made the acquaintance first of what may be called his pre-artistic ancestors; individuals who flourished, according to the unimpeachable author- ity of their descendants' family tree, at such an early period of their country's history that it came as a pleasant surprise to learn that the art of portrait- painting was so advanced even as this in those stormy times. There was Fergus, chieftain of the Picts in the seventh century, formidable in a full- A THE DUKE 203 bottomed wig and battle-axe; Kormac, who mar- ried a daughter of the celebrated Macbeth, arrayed in the scarlet robes of state and the numerous orders created by that usurper; Hugo de Haselle, who provided an alternative origin for the family by making his appearance in the army of William the Conqueror, clad (vide his portrait painted immedi- ately after the battle of Hastings) in a sixteenth- century suit of plate armour; and various other interesting examples of a forgotten school. Then as he went along the line he passed faces that gradually began to assume a certain indefinable likeness to each other and to his early recollections of his father—and even, once or twice, to a coun- tenance he had frequently studied under the razor. There was no need to substantiate these from the family tree. All this time his guide had been musing at a de- cent distance. In spite of her prejudice there was a certain baffling sense of mystery in the secretary's conversation that attracted her insidiously; so much so that she was tempted to break the silence. "Are any of these like the present Duke?" she asked. "I seem to see the ancestors of some of his Grace's virtues," said the secretary. 204 THE DUKE "Is it the wigs or the self-sufficiency he has in- herited?" she said. "I never saw people who looked so pleased with themselves," she added, glancing round on the portraits. "Don't you think they have reason?" "Every reason. I suppose there is not one here who has ever put on his own clothes." "Or who hasn't made a fool of a woman or ruined a man," added Lambert. She glanced at him curiously, but only asked if he had seen enough. He answered that he had. "I suppose you will now give your report? " she said. "Not quite yet. I must see Mrs. Gaye first." To this Marjorie replied with a dignity that she thought would settle the question— "As the Duke is coming so soon, she would pre- fer to see him personally." "I shall do just as well." "She had rather deal with the Duke." "Then she will have to wait." "She is in no hurry." "The Duke is." "Let him write to her, then." The secretary seemed a little put about. He considered for a minute, and then answered— THE DUKE 205 "I think Mrs. Gaye will change her mind when I see her." "She would rather not see you, so you don't need to stay on our account." "The devil I don't," thought the secretary. Aloud he replied, " I must on the Duke's, however. In fact, I shall have to inflict myself upon you here." "Here!" exclaimed Marjorie. "If you will be kind enough to prepare a room, I'll have my luggage sent from the inn." "But "she gasped, "my mother doesn't expect" "I am sorry to disturb her," interrupted the sec- retary imperturbably, "but I assure you the Duke wishes it." He went away and left her thinking. Then she was shortly going to entertain a real live duke! For all her resentment towards the noble family, there was something not unpleasing in the prospect. Certainly the secretary must now be kept at bay till his Grace arrived. Grandon was not a name she had learned to love, but after all his Grace might be quite different from Duke Francis and those insolent portraits. The secretary had run him down, but then there 206 THE DUKE was something unfathomable about the secretary. She refused to believe him; his Grace would be generous and amiable and magnanimous, and everything would end happily, and perhaps he would say to her, " Miss Gaye, I must compliment you upon "But at this point she remembered that first of all much must be done before his seat was ready for his Grace's reception. And she would do it every bit herself; which suggested to her busy mind the most excellent scheme for keep- ing the secretary out of the house in the meantime, or at least making him ashamed of himself if he stayed. She had yet to learn that the line of intractable Haselles was far from extinct. CHAPTER V THE reputed Duke of Grandon lay in bed sleepily watching a clean-shaved, silent man prepare his Grace's wardrobe for the morning. The Lon- don sunshine streamed into the room, and it seemed to the Duke that it looked more cheerful than usual. Then he suddenly awoke to the fact that his secretary was even now north of the border, rattling further and further away from him every moment he thought of it. The brake was off the wheels at last, and he could run downhill as fast and festively as he chose. He was Duke indeed. "Begad!" he exclaimed, "'Tis an uncommon fine morning, Joice." His valet looked up in scarcely concealed sur- prise, for Joice was not accustomed to find his mas- ter in such good-humour at this early hour of the day. "Yes, your Grace, huncommon fine." "It's time I was out looking for the early worrums, begad!" *>7 /' 208 THE DUKE "Is your Grace ready to be shaved?" (His Grace was invariably shaved in bed. "To remind me be contrast of the happy Walleroo days," as he had told Lambert in the first flush of his new dignity.) "Right ye are. Fire away!" cried the Duke. It seemed to the experienced Joice that there must either be a fortunate speculation in his Grace's memory or a lady in prospect. During the whole operation his Grace hummed the melodies of his native land with the cheeriest air possible, and even this did not suffice to express his light-heartedness. "Do ye happen to see any change on me dressing table?" he inquired as soon as his valet had fin- ished. "Yes, your Grace." "How much may there be?" In his silent, velvet-pawed way Joice rapidly counted it. "Two pounds, eleven shillings, and four-pence, your Grace." "Take it away with ye! This is me birthday— or maybe it's yours—or anyhow it's time ye stood your friends something!" A few minutes later the report was running THE DUKE 209 through the servants' hall that the announcement of his Grace's approaching nuptials might be hourly expected. Meanwhile his Grace was making a calculation. "Only ten days more to run," he said to himself with a start, and then with true Hibernian philoso- phy added the cheerful rider, " And what does that matter? It's not the time ye have to spend, begad, it's the way ye spend it. I'll undertake to get as much into a summer's night as some of them will manage in a year!" There was only one cloud on his happiness; that beggarly trifle of an extra £1,000 went a very little way towards patching the hole he had already made in his pocket. "It's easy," he reflected, "devilish easy. I just have to write a cheque, and there's no one will ask a question. Lambert's asking me not to means he's done nothing to prevent it. He's no more no- tion of business—than I have meself, begad!" And then by the most logical sequence of ideas, he said to himself— "And what does he mean be expecting me to keep accounts and look after things when he'd never do it himself? And there's Sir Pursuivant— if he's satisfied surely Lambert may be." 2io THE DUKE And yet even his Grace felt conscious that there was a step wanting between this deduction and drawing on his friend's account. He must try it another way. "Didn't Lambert tell me to do justice to me dig- nity? And was there ever a jook before with such a beggarly allowance? Be George, if he was here he'd see it for himself. But it's hardly worth writ- ing to explain. I'll just see how things turn out. And anyhow there's devil a creditor will see the colour of my coin. What's the use in being a jook if it's not that people will wait for their money?" And having made this satisfactory resolution, his Grace arranged his tie with exemplary care. Before his toilet was quite completed, Lord Roulett was announced. "Now what the deuce has brought him round so early," he wondered. "It can't be that trifle of £50 I'm owing him. Roulett's not the man to bother about a bagatelle like that, surely." His Lordship set his fears at rest immediately. "'Fraid you'll think this an early call, Grandon," he said, with his engaging heartiness. "Fact is I heard last night your secretary was leaving you, and I wondered if there was a row or anythin', so THE DUKE 211 I thought I'd look in and make kind inquiries after Mr. What's-his-name. Ha, ha!" The fact was that as soon as his wife had heard of this event she had sent him post-haste to the swept and garnished house. "Oh, it's nothing at all, I assure ye," replied his Grace regally. "He was just getting a little in the way, d'ye see, so I sent him away for a change of air." "Do him good," laughed his Lordship. "Hope he stays away, by Jove!" He then began to express his fears lest his friend should find himself lonely in all these acres of empty apartments. "True for you," his Grace agreed. "I'm free to confess me house is rather on the spacious side for a solitary jook." "Then," suggested his Lordship, "why not fill it?" His Grace jumped at the suggestion. "I'll get in some of the boys, be George, and once there's a few good Christians assembled, we'll paint Grandon House as red as a herring, sir!" As soon as his Grace had breakfasted they went out to seek Lord Crysanthemus Stagger. That aristocratic decadent was found in bed. 212 THE DUKE His rooms were adorned with all the subtlety of the latest phase in perverted art. His own fair head and colourless features were propped up on a pile of pillows, and he was whiling away the dreary hours before luncheon and life began by studying the works of one of a much-admired modern school of artists—some Montenegran or Nova Zemblian author of repute. "Ah, Roulett! and, ah—the Duke of Grandon himself!" he cried with the most charming air in London. "I have been reflecting for six hours upon the degeneration of the impossible, and where I shall lunch." "Never ye mind the impossible, Crissy, me boy," replied the Duke, " but come and lunch with me." "Grandon's done the impossible, ha, ha!" add- ed Lord Roulett. "He's got rid of his secretary." "My best congratulations!" exclaimed the deca- dent. "My dear Grandon, I have seen that man in the most unbecoming trousers in Europe! But for our absurd modern notions of decency I should have removed them on the spot. "First time I ever heard of notions o' decency interfering with you, Crissy," laughed Lord Rou- lett. "Get up and come to Grandon House!" "And bring your man and your luggage," added 214 THE DUKE nance hailed them hilariously, and presented his friend Count Sancho Polo to his Grace of Grandon. "I was just saying you were the very man I wanted to see, Teddy," said the Duke. "I'm hav- ing a little house-warming. Come and stay with me. "Delighted," replied Mr. Lumme, with no affec- tation of indifference. "For the night?" "As long as ye please. The house is open now. And you, my dear Count, ye'll come too? I'll take no denial, me boy; I've room for an army." Count Sancho Polo had already heard so much about his Grace's peculiarly open disposition that this invitation surprised him less than one might expect. "I am sure, Duke, I vill be charmed," he smiled and bowed. "It vill be for de greatest pleasure." "Come in time for lunch, both of ye. We're going to begin as we mean to continue!" "And who will we get next? " said the Duke as they proceeded on their way. "Hooky Jones, what?" suggested Lord Rou- lett. "The very man! Let's try his club." Captain " Hooky" Jones was discovered at his club. He was a middle-aged man about town, who 216 THE DUKE "They're all right; trust me. Not a man of them I wouldn't put up for me club," said his Grace complacently. Lord Roulett saw he must make the best of it, though he had fully intended that the party should be of his own choosing. But if any of them hap- pened to be too respectable, it was at all events improbable that their visit would be long. The party sat down to lunch twelve strong, and as his Lordship looked round the table he came to the conclusion that, after all, they had not done so badly. It was, in fact, as characteristic an assembly of smartness unhampered with morality as was to be found anywhere in town. The Duke's promise of a lively luncheon was not belied. The dishes were beyond reproach, the wine above criticism, the conversation frequently unrecordable. Small wonder that even Lord Crys- anthemus grew enthusiastic, while Lord Roulett felt that he had never spent a morning to better purpose. But the Duke of Grandon was a prize not to be won without a struggle. Hardly had the party re- paired to the billiard-room, and even as Captain Jones was in the act of distributing the pool balls, when a servant entered with a card, and presented it to his Grace. * THE DUKE 217 "Her ladyship wishes to see your Grace particu- lar," he added in a mysterious voice as if this mes- sage had been strongly impressed upon him. "Who is with her?" "Miss Stock, your Grace." "Miss Julia?" "Yes, your Grace." The Duke hesitated, glanced round the room, and then as he saw Lord Roulett's back turned to choose a cue, he fairly bolted from his guests. CHAPTER VI 'T'HAT same morning the Right Honourable * John Stock, M.P., surprised his family by- coming home for lunch. He was in a prodigious bustle, as became one of her Majesty's ministers quitting his duty for a hurried interlude, and it was evident that only some occasion of importance could have brought him away at all. "Why, here's papa!" cried the girls. "What is the matter? Do tell us!" "My dears, don't worry your father," said their mother, with gracious, yet sufficient, emphasis. "It is nothing serious I trust, my love?" Mr. Stock sat down to lunch with an air of hav- ing tidings to tell that he hardly knew how to broach. "No bad news from the House?" inquired his wife. "Tut, tut! No, no. Nothing of the kind. I only thought that, having a few minutes to spare, I had better tell you—that is, it might interest you 218 s . THE DUKE 219 to know—in fact, my dear, your young relative is making an ass of himself, and it's time it was stopped." "Which relative?" cried the fair Julia, though her tender heart already told her who it must be. "Not?" "The Duke," said her father, with asperity. "I really shall lose my confidence in his Grace if he conducts himself in this fashion." "Why, what has he done?" asked the Lady Georgiana, with her set smile that, however, de- ceived none of her family. "Old Haverton informed me only half an hour ago he had learned from Debrette, who of course gets the news of the clubs before any one, that the Duke has sacked his secretary" "Thank goodness!" ejaculated Lady Georgi- ana. "It would have been better if he had kept him, my dear, rather than take the preposterous and al- most criminally reckless course he has since thought fit to pursue" "Papa!" cried Julia, "I'm sure he hasn't done anything as bad as all that." "He has been round this morning with Rou- lett" 220 THE DUKE "Ah!" interjected Lady Georgiana, her smile becoming terribly bland. "And can you imagine what they have done— at Roulett's instigation, I fear?" "Of course it was!" said Maria, with the can- dour of privileged youth. "They have collected all the riff-raff of the fast- est sets and invited them to take up their abode— their permanent abode I am assured!—in Grandon House. That's a nice morning's work for one of the most distinguished of our hereditary legisla- tors!" "It is shameful! It is scandalous!" said Lady Georgiana. "Roulett is the most unprincipled man in London!" Her daughters listened in silence. They had never before heard their mother so outspoken on the subject of their uncle. Mr. Stock gulped down a glass of claret and half a pate to soothe his nerves. "Can Sir Pursuivant do nothing to prevent this scandal? " his wife asked after an indignant pause. "I fear not, my dear. Haverton tells me he act- ually appears agitated by the mortification he nat- urally feels; but the Duke is unfortunately very headstrong." "If he could only be got away from—from" Julia hesitated. 222 THE DUKE that comes of having too many friends! Do you know that you told Julia you would come with us to Ranelagh this afternoon?" "Have you forgotten?" smiled Julia. "Forgotten! Could I ever forget it? Only— well the fact is some friends of mine have come to lunch at the most unfortunate moment." "So I heard," said Lady Georgiana blandly. "But we hoped luncheon might be over." She smiled as sweetly on him as ever, but behind the smile his Grace seemed to feel, if not a threat, at least a warning. He had a great respect for Lady Georgiana, a respect that made him occasion- ally avoid her society and always feel a little inse- cure when he was in it. "Won't you come, then?" said Julia sweetly. "Certainly. I'll follow ye in five minutes." "Our carriage is at the door," said Lady Geor- giana. "Let us take you. We can wait for five minutes." His Grace hesitated. "Couldn't you leave a message for your friends?" "Be George, that's what I'll do! I'll be with you in two minutes." In fact his Grace displayed as much haste in leav- '. V 226 THE DUKE And now for the first time his Grace began to reflect on this new venture, and another aspect of the question forced itself upon him with unpleasant pertinacity. The simplest way must again be fol- lowed. "Julia, me love," he whispered (they were sitting very close to one another by this time) "can ye keep a secret?" "I'll try," she smiled. "What is it?" "Ye mustn't say a word about our engagement just for a day or two." She raised her eyebrows. "For how long?" she asked, with a charming pout. "Say ten days. Ten days from to-day, mind. Can ye keep a secret as long as that?" "If you really wish it. But won't you tell me why?" His Grace assumed a dramatically serious ex- pression. "There's a dark secret hanging like a sword above me head. I'll say no names, but there's a man who'd blast your happiness, me darling, if he heard of it." "Your secretary?" she cried, with a quick in- stinct. THE DUKE 227 "The same," said the Duke; " he's a dangerous man, I tell ye, and a power of mischief he could do us if we aren't careful. So, me angel, ye'll be as quiet as the dream of beauty ye are, will ye?" "But what harm can he do?" asked Julia, now getting seriously alarmed. "Me foolish generosity lent him the means to turn and bite me hand," his Grace explained darkly. "And will it really be safe in ten days?" "His tooth will then be drawn, me love, and ye'll be free as the wind to do what ye please." With this perfectly accurate if somewhat mis- leading promise, poor Julia was forced to remain content, though it certainly threw a shadow over her happiness to think that for ten days she must hug her triumph to herself, unenvied and uncon- gratulated. Still, this sense of mystery enhanced in one way the fascinations of her lover. Return- ing the pressure of his hand more tenderly, she whispered— "Oh, Grandon, how anxious I shall be!" And then she added archly, "I can't call you Grandon all the time. Isn't there anything just a little, weeny bit humbler, for me to use?" "Me seraph!" sighed his Grace. ' "What will please ye best?" 228 THE DUKE "Your first name is Lambert, isn't it?" The Duke perceptibly started. No one had en- tered into the question of his private, untitled name before, and he had quite forgotten that with the dukedom he had borrowed everything that be- longed to the Duke. He was not specially sensi- tive, but at that moment he felt he had scarcely the face to answer to Lambert. He hesitated, and Julia misinterpreted the pause. "Are you offended?" she asked in a voice that would have surely disarmed anger had there been any. "Offended? All ye could say in a day wouldn't offend me so long as I could look at your face. It's not that; it's just that I haven't been accustomed to answer to Lambert since I was the length of your parasol, and then me father only used it when he meant business with his slipper. It would just re- call painful memories, me love." "What were you called? " she asked. "I just answered to Jack. Call me Jack." "Jack!" she whispered; and it seemed to his per- spiring Grace that he had come wonderfully well through a highly delicate affair; also that another time he had better allow a longer interval between lunch and flirtation. CHAPTER VII IN London the great secret of the matrimonial *. season was a day old, the world was dressing for another dinner, and Miss Julia Stock, as she arrayed herself with the rest, smiled triumphantly at her fair reflection; while far in the north, beyond even the rumour of these famous doings, Lady Georgiana's governess was desperately endeavour- ing to drive the real Duke out of his own domains. Many things inspired her in the contest. Her mother's distress had increased with every hour she spent shut up in her room. It is true she only needed a firm front to defy inquiry, but then she had no firmness, and if she had, this inquisitor had the power to punish with or without confession. And she wrung her hands till Marjorie was con- vinced in her heart that some very real danger threatened them. The more she pushed her ques- tions, the vaguer Mrs. Gaye became, and so she was only left with that most dismal company, a fore^ boding. 339 230 THE DUKE Their hopes both clung to the coming of the Duke in person—Mrs. Gaye's because it postponed the hour; Marjorie's because it changed the man. There was something in the coolness and persist- ency of the secretary that daunted her spirits for all she might declare. And then for an instant she would catch a kindlier glance, and these at once she put down to pity, and knew not whether more to resent the feeling or tremble at the thought of the calamity that could call it up. Then again she felt she had been challenged, and she was as ready to pick up a glove as any knight- errant. Years and experience had not yet come to teach her that a woman's weapons are not a lance in rest and a frowning brow behind a helmet's vizor, but smiles and flags of truce and ambuscades, and at last consoling honours of war for her captive if she conquers or a loopholed treaty should she fail. She was prepared to resist as defiantly as though she were chatelaine of the castle four centuries ago and the foe a raiding Highland chief. Finally, the honour of her family was threatened. When, upon his first coming to stay there, Lam- bert walked up from the village in the evening, and the ponderous door swung open on his ring, he recognised in the cap and apron of a housemaid A THE DUKE 231 none other than, his late intractable guide. She had rehearsed the scene so frequently in her mind that she was able to preserve as grave a counte- nance as she had at her command. He stared, but without a word she led him to the library. "The whole castle is at your disposal," she said, "except my mother's room and mine. Will you need those too?" "The rest of the castle will do," said Lambert. "Are you turning out of the library?" "There is no one to use it. My mother is still unwell, and I shall have to be busy." "Housekeeping? " he asked. "Working," she replied. "We have no servant except one country girl, who is quite unable to at- tend to visitors. Since we are to have the pleasure of your company, you must put up with what I can do for you." If she looked for signs of immediate shame or embarrassment, she was doomed to disappointment. The secretary merely replied— "It seems unnecessary, but I suppose you know best. I shall give you as little trouble as possible, and you can keep this room for your own use. But in the meantime I must stay somewhere in the house." 232 THE DUKE "I have told you I shall have no time to use any room," said she. "I must have things ready for the Duke. He is really coming very soon?" "Very soon. Mrs. Gaye insists upon dealing only with him?" "Certainly." "Very well," he said. "Then if you think it best you can get things ready and I'll tell you what to do to-morrow." "I think I know," she replied very coldly. "The Duke, as I've told you, is eccentric," said the secretary. "You will be the better of my ad- vice." As she was leaving the room he asked— "You and Mrs. Gaye really insist on this ar- rangement?" "We have no choice," she said, and hurried out in time to brush a tear of sheer anger from her eye. The secretary thought of the night twenty-six years ago, and hardened his heart. In the morning she brought him breakfast and he ate it alone, looking out from his chair through a narrow window upon the shining sea between the boughs of trees. Afterwards he met her in the hall. THE DUKE 233 "What do you wish done here? " she asked. "It needs nothing," he answered. "Wouldn't you like the floor scrubbed?" she asked ironically. As a matter of fact the Gayes prided themselves on the sombre specklessness of this ancient apartment. "It might be as well," he said. In each room they came to she had some Her- culean task to propose, and to each suggestion he agreed. At the end she asked— "How long have we to do all this in?" "I have told you," he said, " that the Duke may appear at any time." "But you don't know exactly when?" "He will probably consult me first." Marjorie's heart began to sink. Then suddenly she asked— "You mean he won't come till everything is ready?" "It isn't likely." "I'll have it all done in two days!" she said to herself. But when the secretary came in from a walk that afternoon it hardly looked as though a week would make much impression upon the programme of work they had arranged. The hall floor had been THE DUKE 235 cruelty to prolong this one-sided campaign. The matter could be settled by letter and he could leave Dunwishart before that girl had another chance to wring him with her useless spirit. They would part still foes, which he scarcely liked to think of; but after all that came in the day's work. , He sat and thought and thought, and recalled everything and debated it all till evening had come. Then at last he wrote— "The Duke of Grandon begs to place the follow- ing proposition before Mrs. Gaye. Twenty-six years ago the Duke's father, Mr. Walter Haselle, was irreparably ruined in fortune and character by a conspiracy in which Mrs. Gaye was concerned. The Duke is willing to believe that she erred with- out premeditation, but he thinks she will see that some reparation, however tardy, is due to the mem- ory of Mr. Haselle on the part of those who injured him. He begs Mrs. Gaye to consider the infamy which such a fault as his father was accused of at- taches to the good fame of a gentleman, and, as Mr. Haselle's only son, asks her to give him this satis- faction—that she will furnish him with a written admission of the true facts of the case. The Duke undertakes not to publish this openly, nor to make any use of it that he can possibly avoid, so that so 236 THE DUKE far as he can ensure, the reputations of all concerned may remain undisturbed. He reserves to himself, however, the right of showing it to any old friends of his father and others whose good opinion he considers his father would wish to regain were he alive. In such cases he will make a point of re- questing that the matter be there and then buried and not referred to again. If Mrs. Gaye will write this admission and hand it to the Duke's secretary, the Duke will consider himself obliged if Mrs. Gaye will accept from him the legacy which the late Duke omitted to leave her in his will. His secretary is empowered to arrange this. He will also esteem it a favour if her daughter will permit him to make a similar arrangement with regard to her. He is sure that the late Duke intended this to be done. "Should Mrs. Gaye decline to accede to this re- quest, the Duke will consider himself bound to take all possible steps to vindicate his father's memory. He trusts, however, that this will be unnecessary, and that before it becomes too late Mrs. Gaye will take this opportunity of doing justice to one who can no longer speak for himself. "The Duke will be obliged if Mrs. Gaye com- municates her reply to his secretary as soon as pos- sible." V THE DUKE 237 He sealed this up, and last thing that night handed it to Marjorie. She looked suspiciously first at the letter and then at the secretary. "It is simply on business?" she asked. "Simply." "The Duke's business?" "Yes." "But I have told you my mother prefers to see the Duke personally." "This will hasten matters." "Do you mean that it will do instead of seeing the Duke?" "Yes." "Then he was coming on purpose to see her?" she exclaimed. There was no avoiding the logic of this, so Lam- bert had to answer— "Yes." "Very well," said Marjorie, "I shall give it to her." To herself she added, "After she has seen the Duke. As if I were going to worry her for nothing." So she took the letter to her room, and in the true spirit of battle locked it up as contraband of war. "One way or the other it will be settled," thought 238 THE DUKE Lambert that night. "Mrs. Gaye must choose now." On the next morning Marjorie avoided his so- ciety altogether, till at last he had to go and seek her where she was labouring amid the dust of a hoary bedroom. "Has Mrs. Gaye decided upon her answer? " he asked. "She prefers to deal with the Duke directly," she said. "She will give no answer to my letter?" "No." "You gave it her?" "Is there anything else you suspect me of? " she replied. There was still exactly a week to run before he considered himself free to appear as the Duke of Grandon, and for the first time he felt a keen im- patience to take the reins. When he came from the new world it had seemed to him that there was nothing to be done but the farce of sitting on a box in a stable-yard, and he had cheerfully let another play the part; but now he saw that even in this old world there were real horses to drive and a road THE DUKE 239 leading somewhere. He felt the sweet odour of power in his nostrils, and it whetted his appetite. As the days passed and he went about his terri- tories that stretched for many miles along the coast and many leagues inland, and looked down from hill-tops upon no acre that he did not own, and talked to his people, long neglected by the lords of the soil, his impatience increased and the imperi- ous spirit of a ruler strengthened. He went out to sea with the fishers and on the hills with the keepers and shepherds, and the little old world grew wider. With that girl slaving uselessly all day, he hardly cared to be much in the house, nor could he banish the picture of her when he was abroad. Each day he had obstinately made up his mind that an answer would be forthcoming and the blind resistance cease; yet the days passed and no answer came. Sometimes the people in the neighbourhood gossiped to him about her, and in this way he learned what her business had been. When he was indoors they occasionally exchanged a few words in a half-friendly way, like sentinels from two hos- tile camps, and so one day he said to her— "You live with Lady Georgiana Stock, I hear." "I once did," she replied. 240 THE DUKE "Aren't you going back?" "She doesn't want me." "Sacked? " he asked in his direct fashion. "How many places could you be in at the same time? I can only be in one, and I prefer to stay here." "Is it necessary?" "Oh, not at all," she answered sarcastically. "You could have cooked and my mother scrubbed the floors. I stayed naturally for the pleasure of your society." "Then I suppose you blame me for losing your job?" "I am not always thinking about you," she said. "That's strange, isn't it?" Then throwing him her most defiant smile, she left him. He took the smile and her look to the sea with him, and there he decided to try again to end the business. When he came back he went to her and said— "Miss Gaye, you are merely wasting your strength. Let me have my answer and go." "You have had your answer," she replied. "Then your mother is determined neither to see me nor to write to me?" "She is too unwell to see you," she answered THE DUKE 241 unblushingly, "and I have told you she is waiting for the Duke to come." "He will only come when I send for him." "But the house is almost ready now," said Mar- jorie more stoutly than she felt. "That makes no difference." "You won't tell him it is ready?" "Not till I choose." Marjorie turned her face away; for he must not see any but the boldest expression. He lingered by her for a moment, and then abruptly walked off. "I must write to Sir Pursuivant," she said to herself, "and ask him to help us. This is being in- considerate if anything is." It went sorely against the grain to call in assist- ance, but there seemed nothing else for it; and so she sat down to appeal to the Baronet. CHAPTER VIII r I"" HE days that followed the secretary's departure * from Grandon House were a time of trouble for Sir Pursuivant Debrette. Hardly had he be- gun to congratulate himself upon the departure of that colonial interloper, when, like a puppy escaped into a poultry-yard, his Grace of Grandon began to play the extraordinary series of pranks that made the next ten days remembered for many seasons. First, as we have seen, he collected his heterogene- ous house party; and to the Baronet's disgust and dismay it began rapidly to increase both in numbers and hilarity. Next, he had his celebrated midnight chariot race in which the vehicles and horses were the miscellaneous contents of his own stables, the steeds being draped in white and the chariots in scarlet, while the drivers (himself and his guests) wore night-shirts and opera hats and the occupants of the coaches comprised members of both sexes all primed with the priceless tawny port for which the cellars of Grandon House were so justly famous. 242 244 THE DUKE him, with the carefully correct costume that decor- ously suggested the turf, and the little bits of side- whisker glued to the long clean-shaved counte- nance, he unconsciously assumed the expression he kept for his less important constituents. For nothing that passed in Grandon House escaped the Stocks (Joice, the ducal valet, came with a very high recommendation from Mr. Stock), and they knew that Sir Pursuivant's influence was under an eclipse. "Good morning," said the Cabinet Minister, with just sufficient geniality to confirm his reputa- tion for open-mindedness. "Mornin'," said the Baronet briefly. "Seen the Duke lately?" "The Duke—which Duke?" asked Mr. Stock, looking as though he were searching the list of his ducal acquaintances. "Duke of Grandon." "Ah, yes, young Grandon; of course. I forgot you were specially interested in him. Yes, yes; I left him at my house this afternoon." "'Fraid he's goin' a bad mucker," said the Baro- net gloomily. "Because he comes to my house? Ha, ha! Come Debrette, you're too hard on us!" V v THE DUKE 245 The Minister laughed genially, but Sir Pursui- vant showed no symptom of a smile. "It isn't that," he replied quite seriously (for in his heart he liked this phase of the Duke's conduct little better than any other). "It's the way he's goin' on with those people he's bin collectin' at his house. Besides, even his income won't stand this strain. He won't listen to me." "Dear me, dear me," said the Minister, with the most conventional pretence of sympathy. "What's one to do?" the Baronet asked ab- ruptly. "My dear Debrette, young men will be young men. Give him his head; give him his head. He'll settle down all right. I'll keep my eye on him, no fear. Got an engagement now, I'm afraid. Good- bye." As Mr. Stock's portly form disappeared, the Baronet said to himself sardonically. "Thinks he's goin' to collar him now he's fairly on the loose. Wish him luck, but I'll lay twelve to two against it. That colt doesn't mean settlin' down in harness yet for a while. Twelve to one's more like the odds." Sir Pursuivant was a much shrewder judge of men than either the Stock or the Roulett families. S 246 THE DUKE Perhaps they were only too ready to be deceived by his Grace's Hibernian heartiness and adaptability to any society he was in; certainly each family thought that whatever friendliness he might show towards others, they alone really had his affections. The house party idea had been a great move for the Rouletts, but already, for a cause which will pres- ently appear, it was beginning to disperse, and the Stocks saw in this the most hopeful omen. On one point they were tacitly agreed—neither of them had the slightest intention of allowing either secretary or Baronet to interfere again. Sir Pursuivant quickly divined this, and he drew down the corners of his mouth and ruminated on the situation. It was a devilish stiff 'un, he said to himself, and he actually found himself regretting the departure of the secretary. His views on that individual began to modify a little; not that he could get rid of his suspicions, but then it was cer- tainly remarkable that with his departure all sem- blance of restraint on the Duke's part disappeared, and the sweeping of the house only resulted in the arrival of worse devils. What the deuce could be the relation between the two men? the Baronet wondered; was the Duke's wild bout of reckless- ness simply the result of despair at being encum- THE DUKE 247 bered by some terrible incubus of which the secre- tary was the embodiment; or did the secretary after all serve, like the wasps and midges, some mysterious good purpose? He suddenly vowed he would have it out with the Duke. He knew himself to be by far the more resolute of the two, and if he could but get him alone, he thought he might squeeze the secret. It was not that he was inquisitive—in fact, he was one of the least inquisi- tive of men; but he had promised to do his best for Frank's heir, and this piece of jungle must be cleared before he could move. That very night fortune at last favoured him most singularly. He was walking down St. James' Street towards his chambers, when out of a club near the top of the street a man emerged with a peculiar precipitation that suggested the cycling novice who finds a certain degree of speed essential for preserving his direction. This gentleman can- noned so sharply into the Baronet that for an in- stant he almost lost his balance; the next he was affectionately clutched by the arm. "Me dear Sir Pursuivant!" a familiar voice ex- claimed; "I'm delighted to see ye! Come to me house and have a drink." It was indeed his Grace of Grandon, and in an expansive humour. .- 248 THE DUKE . "I'll walk along with you," said the Baronet. "Delighted to. Where have you bin?" "Performing me social duties. The giddy throng, sir, the gay multitude! Living me life, sir, as a jook ought. It's fine sport, me boy, but it has its dangers." His Grace shook his head with a suddenly serious air, as though he had talked lightly too long. Sir Pursuivant emitted what was intended to be a sym- pathetic sound, and waited with interest for further particulars. "I've done it," said the Duke sadly; "done it again. It's all right, don't you know; but it might be devilish awkward if they both split. Don't know what I'd do; don't know, 'pon me word." This mysterious confession excited the Baronet's curiosity still further, but unluckily, instead of being content with a grunt, he now committed himself to an inquiry. "What's the matter? " he asked. The Duke looked suspiciously at him as if he had suddenly awoken to the presence of some one else. "A bagatelle," he answered, quite gaily again. "A mere incident, sir. Just the sort of thing that occurs to any spirited young man — especially jooks." V THE DUKE 249 He walked on for a few paces humming a tune; but it quickly became evident that his load of care was not to be thrown off so easily. The tune died away and presently he began to talk again in the same mysterious and mournfully confidential strain. "I returned and tried all me clubs," he began as though he were continuing the same narrative, "but there was devil a man I knew, that's to say, don't you know, no one I'd stoop to drink with. So I sat for a while be meself, and then it was me good-fortune to meet yourself, me dear Debrette. I'm devilish pleased; I haven't seen ye for days." "No," said the Baronet briefly. "You haven't." "I wonder now will I find Crissy in? " the Duke continued. "It's a terrible thing when your friends desert ye, sir; and that's just what mine are at. There's just Crissy and Teddy Lumme in the house now; all the rest have gone; gone, sir, and left me." Pleasant as this intelligence was to the Baronet, it sounded as inexplicable as his Grace's previous remarks. "Why have they gone?" he asked. "Ingratitude, black ingratitude!" said his Grace dramatically, if somewhat obscurely; and then, coming back to a minor key, " Me responsibilities 252 THE DUKE was up in flood, and we camping too near the edge of the dirty stream, and the next thing there was our kettle floating off, filling all the time, and it the only one fifty miles either way. Then says he, 'Jack, me boy, if you look after your concertina, I'll fish out the pot.'" "Who's Jack? " the Baronet interrupted. "He called me that for short," the Duke ex- plained. "Oh," said the Baronet. "Well," his Grace continued hastily, " in he goes, head first, quite forgetting there was only three feet of overflow where he was, and then, d'ye see, his head being cracked with the bump on the bot- tom, the current was off with him twelve miles an hour to the Pacific. And if it hadn't been for me courage and presence of mind leaving me concer- tina in the devouring waters and plunging after him, there he'd have been to this very day, sir. And look now how he treats me!" His Grace paused to brood over his wrongs, and Sir Pursuivant reflected. Though he was not re- markable either for humour or for imagination, the contrast between the Duke of Grandon and the concertina, and between Pall Mall and the flooded camp upon the Walleroo, tickled his * THE DUKE 253 fancy. He chuckled silently, and in a minute asked— "That all?" "And isn't it enough? " said his Grace. "It seems a good enough reason for your havin' a pull over him, but not for his havin' a pull over you." The Duke's wits were none too clear—in fact, his head was buzzing most annoyingly; but he could perceive vaguely the weak spot in his story. "Me dear sir," he said very confidentially, " from that hour he became too familiar, and me being kind-hearted, things went from bad to worse—from bad to worse, sir." "D'you mean you've given yourself away over somethin'?" "In a weak moment," said the Duke mysteri- ously, " I told him where me papers were kept." "He hasn't bagged any?" exclaimed the Baro- net. "Heaven knows," his Grace replied solemnly. Sir Pursuivant began to lose his temper. "What the deuce d'ye mean? " he asked. His Grace became more confidential than ever. "You see, me dear friend," he explained, "me own life hasn't been spotless." 254 THE DUKE "Ah," said the Baronet, with meaning, thinking that at last his Grace was coming to the point, " he knows somethin' he shouldn't, then?" "That man, sir, has seen the Jook of Grandon the worse for liquor! I'd tell it to no one else, mind." Sir Pursuivant's patience was completely ex- hausted; but he only observed drily— "You'd better not; it 'ud certainly surprise em. By this time they had arrived before Grandon House, and his Grace had only one idea now in his head, and that was to be rid of his inquisitive moni- tor at all costs. "And here we are at me own doors!" he ex- claimed. "I'd ask ye in, but I know Mrs. Pursui- vant will be expecting ye. Good-night, old man. God bless ye!" He relinquished Sir Pursuivant's arm, took the steps two at a time, and after a moment's swearing with his latch-key, got safely under cover. "Well, I'm !" began the Baronet; but he could think of no past participle emphatic enough. 256 THE DUKE It may observed that the staff at Grandon House had learned by this time that the frequent repeti- tion of the phrase " your Grace " made amends for many shortcomings. "And where will he be now?" "In the blue boudoir, your Grace, entertaining a few friends, your Grace." "A supper party, eh?" "Yes, your Grace; and, beg pardon your Grace, I think they're 'aving a little dance." "Begad!" exclaimed his Grace. "Then he's got some—be George, I'll come up presently and join them. Any one else in?" "Lord Crysanthemus Stagger, your Grace." "Aha! He hasn't left, then? Where's he?" "In the white drawing-room, your Grace. Shall I tell him you are here, your Grace?" "Ye needn't trouble. I'll go up meself." "Beg pardon, your Grace, but his Lordship's 'aving a little choir practice and wasn't to be dis- turbed, your Grace." "Be damned!" exclaimed his Grace. "In me own house too! I never heard of his choir be- fore." "Please, your Grace, he's training two of the 'ousemaids." 258 THE DUKE "It's all one so long as some one has been taking them," said the Duke philosophically. "And I'm having me own fun, never fear." "Sordid mind!" sighed his Lordship. "Your Grace misapprehends me—but no matter. You have been revelling, I suppose?" "Revelling!" exclaimed the Duke, his mind re- turning to his late interview. "Crissy, me boy, would ye call a walk from the other end of St. James' Street to Grandon House, with Sir Pursuivant De- brette on your arm, revelling?" "It is certainly a decadent pastime." "Ye'd call it purgatory if ye tried." "I once tried," said Crissy, " though for a shorter distance—from one side of Piccadilly to the other, I think, with thirty seconds in the middle to let a 'bus pass." "And ye found it amusing?" "I learned the name of a horse that was going to run in a race, and gave him in exchange an innu- endo which he failed to understand. When I reached the opposite pavement I had aged ten years." The humour of Lord Crysanthemus was some- what too indirect for the Duke's clear comprehen- sion, but he laughed dutifully, and broke out again— THE DUKE 259 "He's not a man, sir; he's a dirty, inquisitive piece of wood!" "He is respectable," said his Lordship. "Let us change the subject." "With pleasure," his Grace agreed. "Tell me what ye've been doing. I've hardly seen ye for two days." "I have been bored with women and annoyed with men." "Have ye none that can amuse ye?" "I have lost the one woman who might have cheered me. As for men, I despair of them. They are either too respectable or too inartistic." "And who was the woman?" asked his Grace. "Was she respectable or artistic?" "Happily contrasted, my dear Grandon!" said his Lordship. "No woman is ever respectable at heart, and this one was born to be artistic. Now she is gone, and I am driven to choir practice." He passed his hand across his fair hair and smiled sweetly. The Duke was not squeamish, but he felt somehow that he was in the presence of a very charming reptile. "Where has she gone?" he asked. "If I knew I shouldn't be here. I have men- tioned her before, I think; the only redeeming 262 THE DUKE scended before him in the case of Miss Julia Stock. It was easier to go on than struggle back; in a word another marriage had been arranged: this time be- tween the Duke of Grandon and the Honourable Nellie Flutter, only daughter of Lord Roulett. The same vows of secrecy had been sworn, and the same mysterious reason given; the lady's tongue only to be untied when he was no longer Duke. One might suppose that a lover so recently ac- cepted and so singularly placed would have found a sufficient cause for reflection without going any further afield. But as a matter of fact his Grace, after recalling the incident and going over his own conduct and the bearing of the lady, came to the conclusion that after all there was nothing to trou- ble about, and devoted his attention to a far more pressing problem. He was unquestionably hard up. Two thousand nine hundred and ninety-four pounds had disappeared in cash, to say nothing of a mass of bills and I O U's sufficient to have swamped a moderate fortune. And this did not include borrowed money, of which up to a few days ago he had found no difficulty in obtaining an al- most unlimited quantity. For what acquaintance would dream of refusing to lend the wealthy Duke of Grandon five or ten pounds? k THE DUKE 263 Unfortunately this source had now been drained. The guests who had come to live at his expense soon began to find that his Grace apparently pro- posed to live at theirs. They lent money and they waited for the Duke to repay even the most trifling gambling debt, till in the course of two or three days they fairly took fright and fled. This, then, was the cause of that exodus which had so mystified Sir Pursuivant, and besides robbing the Duke of a source of revenue, it had now closed the purse- strings of all to whom they had confided their dis- appointment. "Three days to go," soliloquised the Duke, " and a miserable six quid in me pocket. And I meant to have them the liveliest three days of the lot." It was distasteful enough to think that his reign must come to an end at all, but to have it fizzle out like this was unbearable. Heartily did he consign his secretary to the unpleasantest situation he could think of. "To leave me like this! It's shameful! Be George, I'll not stand it! He'll never miss a small cheque." He jumped up and went over to a small bureau which Lambert had used when by chance he had done any secretarial duties. It was open; not a drawer seemed locked. 264 THE DUKE "There's a fine business man for ye, leaving everything unlocked so that any one might come in and help themselves. I wonder what he keeps here?" He pulled out the drawers one after another; all but one, and that stuck fast. "The suspicious curmudgeon! keeping his things locked up in me own private study as if he thought I'd steal them. I'll just try me own keys." The third key he tried fitted, and the drawer came open. There indeed lay a cheque-book among other things, but what caught the Duke's eye first and rivetted his attention was a small slip of paper with a pencilled writing on it. It was the receipt. He took it out and read the brief memorandum beginning, "Received of Lambert Haselle, styled Duke of Grandon," and ending with his own signa- ture. He stared at it, and then he kept on staring. In the silence of Grandon House an inviting burst of merriment from the supper party came plainly to the study, but his Grace's ears had apparently grown deaf. A CHAPTER X 'T'HAT night Sir Pursuivant Debrette slept little. * He was so thoroughly ill at ease that after breakfasting and endeavouring to concentrate his mind for a time upon a usually appreciated sporting periodical, he felt there was only one thing to be done. It was the step he had always taken in sea- sons of doubt. Accordingly he set out westwards, and about half an hour later was ushered into Laura Lou- vaine's drawing-room. She greeted him as brightly and kindly as ever, and then as he stood leaning against her mantel- shelf casting round in his mind for the best begin- ning, she asked, with a smile— "Worried, Pursie?" "Little," he answered; " how'd you know?" She laughed. "You'd never come to see me otherwise." "Nonsense, Laura!" he exclaimed; "hang it all!" "You can't deny it!" she insisted. 265 266 THE DUKE The Baronet was evidently put about. "Er—truth is," he hesitated; "well, Laura, I'm no ladies' man, and they don't cotton to me—so I don't trouble-'em if I can help it." "Then you have discovered that I only tolerate you with difficulty?" She smiled at him so infectiously that he actually beamed back. "Can't say," he replied. "Don't want to risk it." "Risk what?" "Borin' you." He was so evidently sincere and the compliment so delicate that she blushed as well as laughed in crying— "My dear Pursie! sit down, and don't be such a fool!" Sir Pursuivant laughed jerkily and sat down, looking wonderfully pleased. "And now," she said, " what's the matter?" "It's that young ass Grandon again—can't make him out." "I hear remarkable accounts of him," she ob- served. "And I've bin gettin' more remarkable accounts from him." THE DUKE 267 "Accounts of what?" "Of everything I asked him about. Talk o' what's-his-name who fell down dead through lyin'! Grandon gives him points. I was askin' him last night about his secretary—that fishy chap Kava- nagh; why he was under his thumb, and that sort of thing." "And what did he say?" "Talked rot. First said he'd saved the fellow's life—as if that had anythin' to do with it. Then that the man knew where he kept his papers-— which he naturally would, considerin' he pretends to be secretary. And then he said he'd seen him drunk! As if half o' London hadn't by this time." Mrs. Louvaine laughed: somewhat unsympa- thetically it seemed to him. "It's ho laughin' matter, Laura," he said. "There's somethin' in the wind. Do you know where the secretary is now?" "Where?" "Gone up to Dunwishart to see the Gayes; and this mornin' I got a letter from Miss Gaye askin' me to interfere, and sayin' he's not behavin' as he ought. There's somethin' up, Laura." "Wha,t has Mr. the secretary been doing?" she asked quickly. THE DUKE 269 "What d'ye mean?" "For some reason or other the Duke of Grandon has changed places with a man called Kavanagh," she replied, speaking with perfect composure and as if she were sure of what she said. "Don't you see, that accounts for the Duke's accent—and for the hold the secretary has over him—and for his going to see the Gayes—and for everything?" By this time the Baronet had recovered some- thing of his outward composure, though his mind felt as bewildered as if he had witnessed some im- possible conjuring trick. "Who told you this?" he asked. "I guessed it." "But you don't know?" "I am quite certain." "What makes you think so? " he persisted. "It's more than thinking, Pursie." She paused and seemed to hesitate, and then she said— "You remember Walter Haselle?" "Yes." "I was once engaged to him." "You? " he exclaimed. "That was before you knew me. It wasn't an- nounced when—when he had to leave the country. 270 THE DUKE He broke it off himself, and nobody knew of it; but can't you believe that I should feel interested in Walter's son?" The Baronet looked right before him thoughtful- ly, but made no answer. "That man at Grandon House is no Haselle, Pursie! You can trust me, he isn't. But the very first time I saw his secretary I was instantly re- minded of somebody. At first I thought it was the late Duke." "Frank?" "Yes." "Gad!" said the Baronet, "now you speak of it, there is somethin' now and then." "Then I saw the resemblance was really to Wal- ter, and when I got to know this secretary better I felt certain I had guessed the secret. At last I talked to him of the Duke's father, and he hardly made a pretence we were not speaking of his own— at least I could read his meaning quite clearly." Sir Pursuivant was still lost in a fog of wonder. "That man Kavanagh, Duke of Grandon!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to readjust his no- tions of the secretary. "That very man," said she. "Good Lord!" cried the Baronet. * THE DUKE 271 Laura laughed. "But why on earth should he change with any one? " he asked. "A man isn't made a duke every day." "I have imagined a dozen reasons. Perhaps as a jest—perhaps as an experiment—perhaps to play the world a trick." "What's he want to play it a trick for?" "Possibly," she said, looking very straight at him, "he considered that the world played his father a trick." He was evidently struck sharply by the idea. For an instant he glanced at her almost suspiciously, and then he said— "He knows the old story, then?" "Yes." The Baronet sprang to his feet. Though his face was studiously calm, she saw that he was excited. "And now he's gone to see the Gayes!" he said. "So it seems." "Gad!" he exclaimed, " I must stop him." "You ," she cried. "Why?" Sir Pursuivant was clearly very ill at ease. At first he hesitated, and then blurted out, "Poor old Frank isn't here to defend himself." 274 THE DUKE The laugh had become a very mixed sound and her eyes were very kind indeed. The Baronet was fairly taken aback. She had always been absurdly grateful, he thought, but never before so generous as this. "My dear Laura!" he expostulated, while a long-suppressed sensation needed a fresh suppres- sion, " sure I'm charmed. Nothin' else to do, don't you know." There was a pause of perhaps some ten seconds by the clock after this, though it seemed to the Baronet much longer; and then she asked— "And now, having nothing else to do, what will you begin with?" "Got to see the Duke first; that's to say the man who calls himself Duke. The thing's past a joke, and if he really isn't Duke of Grandon he's got to clear out o' Grandon House." It may seem remarkable how implicitly he had accepted her explanation of the mystery, but the truth was that ever since she married his cousin George Louvaine, and he first came to know her, he had considered Laura the cleverest person in the world. "And then? " she asked. "Go north." THE DUKE 275 "When shall you see the—what shall I call him? —the decoy Duke?" "Soon as I can." "Will you let me know what happens?" "Right," said the Baronet. "I'll come round here afterwards. Goodbye just now." He started to leave and then turned back again. "I say, Laura," he said, "I can't thank you enough for guessin' all this. What an ass I've bin! Only comfort is every one else has bin taken in too." And at that he suddenly burst into a roar of laughter. "What ever's the matter?" cried Laura; a little startled by this unusual demonstration. "I was just thinkin' of Lady Georgiana. Ha, ha!" The laugh ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and the Baronet stalked out. CHAPTER XI 'T'HE Duke of Grandon and Lord Crysanthemus * Stagger had been playing billiards. It was early in the afternoon and very hot and they sat still in their shirt-sleeves drinking iced champagne. Champagne at all hours was one of his Grace's most ducal ideals, and this afternoon his guest seemed anxious to coax him into an even more liberal consumption of it than usual. One effect had already become evident: his Grace was in a very good-humoured and loquacious mood, and his Lordship thought it now safe to reconnoitre a cer- tain position. "Grandon," he sighed, "is there anything on earth that is not at your disposal?" "Not much," replied his Grace complacently. "Are you thirsty?" said Lord Crysanthemus, waving his white hand effectively. "You have the rosiest wines! Are you hungry? You have the most succulent dinners! Are you amorous? You have the fairest women!" 276 THE DUKE 277 "Aha!" said the Duke cunningly, " ye're think- ing of your little governess, Crissy!" Crissy was, and he had also intended that his Grace should refer to her first. "What is the use?" he smiled. "She has met you. I am forgotten!" "She hasn't met me yet, me boy." Crissy showed no sign either of surprise or un- usual interest. "My dear Duke, why deceive me?" "I'm not deceiving you," said his Grace, smiling mysteriously. "I have her safe, though." "And yet you haven't met her? " said his Lord- ship languidly. The Duke chuckled. "Crissy, me dear friend, shall I make ye jeal- ous?" "I have outlived jealousy." "Have ye? Listen to me, then! She's living at me own castle of Dunwishart. Ha, ha! What d'ye say to that?" Still Crissy displayed no more than the mildest interest. "Have you presented her, then, with the trous- seau and the bridal chamber before wooing her?" "The joke is, me dear Crissy," laughed the 278 THE DUKE - Duke, "that Dunwishart's her home, be all that I can learn." Lord Crysanthemus did actually raise his eye- brows and reflect for a minute. "Ah, I see," he said, "some old protege of the Grandons. Home and occupation provided by your far-seeing race. I felicitate you, Duke!" He smiled, sipped his wine, and began to hu- morously complain of the heat. The Duke felt a little disappointed at his taking this piece of news thus calmly; but then it was Crissy's greatest charm in his eyes that he represented aristocratic compos- ure to such perfection. As he sat there listening to his Lordship's soft tongue, he became entirely happy. His cares were at an end; he had cashed a fresh cheque that morning; and the whole world seemed a warm current that bore him delightfully wherever he wished. It gave him a shock like falling out of bed to have the door suddenly opened and the words, " Sir Pursuivant Debrette, your Grace!" clanged into his ears. "Good Lord!" exclaimed Crissy, springing up and into his coat as the Baronet entered. "You're not going, Crissy?" said his Grace, with a desperate attempt to keep a buffer between himself and his inquisitor. v THE DUKE 279 "So sorry; I really must." Lord Crysanthemus greeted the Baronet sweetly as he passed him and vanished with almost magical celerity. "Ye've only just caught me," said his Grace heartily as he put on his own coat. "I'm going out to the most pressing affair." "'Fraid I must have a talk with you first," the Baronet announced, with a more than usually grim and business-like air. Already his Grace's good spirits were damped, but he answered cheerfully, looking ostentatiously at his watch. "Five minutes, then, since it's you that asks it." Sir Pursuivant stood very erect beside the bill- iard-table considering how he should best begin. Finally he burst in medias res with an abruptness that certainly was more dramatically effective than any ingenious circumlocution. "I say, it's time you stopped this foolin'." The consternation and bewilderment of the un- fortunate Duke may perhaps be better imagined than written. He just retained sufficient presence of mind to demand in a voice that might have been choked either with indignation or alarm— 280 THE DUKE "What the devil d'ye mean?" "Callin' yourself Duke of Grandon," said the Baronet, with an immovable countenance. "I don't understand ye, sir," stammered the Duke. "Yes, you do. You're not the son of the late Walter Haselle." By this time his Grace was regaining more com- mand of himself. "And what makes ye say that?" "I know it." "Who's told ye this nonsense?" "That's no matter." The impostor's courage began to come back a lit- tle. He had had time to remember that the receipt was under lock and key and the papers in his own possession. Besides, the game of bluff was one with which he was not unfamiliar, and he thought he saw the features of it now. "Confound ye!" he answered stoutly. "Isn't it?" Sir Pursuivant was a trifle staggered. "Do you mean to say you are the rightful Duke of Grandon?" he asked. "Of course I mean to say so." The Baronet saw that he must be more wary. THE DUKE 281 "Perhaps I'm wrong," he replied. "You are then the son of Walter Haselle and Mary Smith?" Sir Pursuivant was not imaginative, and on the spur of the moment Mary Smith was the only fe- male name he could think of. However, it served its purpose. "Certainly, sir," said his Grace unsuspect- ingly. "And you were born in New South Wales twenty-six years ago?" Had the Duke taken the trouble to study his borrowed birth-certificate, he probably would not have answered with so much assurance— "I was, sir." Again Sir Pursuivant had to rack a brain unused to finesse in search of further gins and traps. "You are not Irish, then? " he asked next. "No, sir," said his Grace warmly; " I never saw the country!" "Nor lived with Irish people?" "What d'ye take me for? I'll not stand this, sir." "How d'you account for your Irish accent, then?" asked the Baronet, still with unruffled calm. This time his Grace was genuinely enraged. It 282 THE DUKE was not to be supposed that his courtiers had spoken of his accent to his face, and in fact he was in blissful ignorance of this embellishment. "Me Irish accent!" he cried wrathfully. "Have ye come to insult me?" Sir Pursuivant, however, never turned a hair. "I may tell you," he said as coolly as ever, " that Walter Haselle was not married to Mary Smith, and their son wasn't born in New South Wales twenty-six years ago, and that you are an Irish im- postor." His Grace perceived that it was time to put his foot down firmly and end the matter for once and all. With tremendous spirit and emphasis he roared— "Ye'll clear out of this house, sir, faster than ye came in! I'm the only Jook of Grandon ye are ever going to see, and ye can put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Entirely undismayed by this attack, the Baronet asked— "The arrangement, then, is that you stay here till the gentleman who calls himself your secretary wishes to disclose his identity?" "If ye come from that gentleman sir, ye can tell 284 THE DUKE the spot as a stingy, ungrateful rascal, sir!" he shouted, " and ye can both boil your heads in gravy and hide them in your dirty hats!" "Much obliged for the hint," said the Baronet as he departed. His Grace sighed a deep sigh of relief and drank a long drink. His outrageous bluster had been a merely Celtic manifestation, and now that his foe had left the field he felt rather cheerful and good- humoured than otherwise. The die had been cast, and though for a moment he did feel a little appre- hensive, his national buoyancy instantly came to the rescue, and, whistling with great unconcern, he set out to find his friend Crissy. "His Lordship has just gone," he was informed. "He left word for your Grace that he would return in a day or two." His Grace felt a little annoyed, though scarcely surprised, for by this time he was quite used to see- ing his guests depart without warning and return without invitation. Meanwhile Sir Pursuivant had driven straight to Mrs. Louvaine's to give her the news and ease his own feelings. "What I can't understand," he said, when he had finished his narrative, "is how any one can A THE DUKE 285 ever have bin taken in by the man. He used lan- guage more like a cabby than a gentleman—never heard such a vulgar brute!" Mrs. Louvaine smiled. "And yet you believed in him yourself up till to-day?" "That's what bothers me," he admitted. "How the deuce did it happen?" "Well," she said, "I don't think really the ex- planation is so very far to seek. Suppose I was to take this little water-colour here and put it in a splendid frame and say it was a priceless Turner, and arrange my whole room so as to show it off, and speak of it in an awed whisper, don't you sup- pose people would approach it on tip-toe and see the most wonderful merits in it, just because they were told to? Every one would but an expert; and then, you see, Pursie, there are no experts in dukes." "I s'pose you're right," said the Baronet gloom- ily. It came as a great shock to his most cherished prejudices to think that a man of blood and rank could be imitated by the dozen, and he would have refused indignantly to admit the reasoning had it come from any other than Laura Lou- vaine. CHAPTER XII A BOUT the time that Sir Pursuivant ought to **. have been arriving at Dunwishart, had he kept to his first resolution, in the middle of a long summer's afternoon, Marjorie Gaye laid down her duster with a sigh and let her thoughts wander. Matters had gone on without change or improve- ment, and all the time the strain became harder to bear. The work of renovating this dusty old castle by the might of her single arm seemed useless, and so futile now as hardly to be worth the doing. For if this secretary really controlled the Duke's com- ing, cobwebs might have time to gather again in every corner before he arrived. There could have been an answer by now from Sir Pursuivant, but no answer had come; and for the first time she was beginning to confess to herself that she had over- rated her strength, and been a little too contemptu- ous of man. She had gone into the fray as confi- dent in her power and as scornful of the forces against her as a young salmon may feel when he 288 THE DUKE / 289 first pulls against the thin, invisible cast. Now she felt like the fish after half an hour's run, with the hook still in her mouth and the gut unbroken. The secretary had been hard and callous as a boulder from the hill, and her methods of dealing with him as little able to soften or to break as ham- mering such a stone with a croquet mallet. Her mother grew more nervous and fearful every day, till horrible suspicions of the justice of their cause had even come by instants into Marjorie's heart. And so she sat this afternoon idle and depressed. The secretary was out; there was no sound or movement anywhere about the castle except the whining of a sea breeze round the walls; and the most dismal thoughts began to assail her. She had done no good, received no thanks, and she had lost the independence that a means of livelihood had given her; for, as the secretary had bluntly put it, she had been "sacked." Lady Georgiana, like a person properly brought up herself, of austere vir- tue, punctual in the fulfilment of what she called her own duty, and exceedingly particular that those beholden to her should remember the fact, had merely replied to Marjorie's request for a little longer leave by a telegram with a reply prepaid, demanding her instant return. On receipt of the re- 2$0 THE DUKE ply she had then composed such a letter as a benefi- cent patroness, disappointed by the ingratitude of a dependent might be expected to write. Marjorie had put it straight in the fire, but not till the acid of her Ladyship's words had burned a mark. She flushed now as she thought of them. It was while she was in this dreary humour that the servant came in and announced a visitor. "For me?" said Marjorie. It appeared that a gentleman had come to see the castle, and learning casually that Miss Gaye lived here, he had demanded to see her. "What is his name? " she asked. But the gentleman had given no name, and the maid's description merely gave further food for speculation. "Well," she said to herself, "I'll have to show him round anyhow, I suppose, so it doesn't matter who it is." She debated for a minute whether she should remove her apron. The housemaid's cap had gone some time ago, as giving her an appearance of which she disapproved, though she found it hard to find an adjective for it. (The very vulgar might have termed it " saucy.") Finally she decided to retain it on a point of pride, THE DUKE 291 for supposing the secretary was to return and think that when he was out of sight she ceased to play the servant? Yet for the life of her she could not help feeling a little self-conscious, and so she en- tered the hall with a wonderfully becoming flush upon her face. The flush deepened at the sight of her visitor, and such a smile of embarrassment and humour broke through it as made that gentleman think he had already some reward for his journey. "You?" she exclaimed. "Only me," smiled Lord Crysanthemus, bend- ing gracefully over her hand. It was indeed his Lordship, looking boyish and bright and charming, in the coolest of grey flannel suits, and the most becoming of ties, and the neatest of brown boots. In his button-hole he wore a sin- gle rose, and in his hand he carried a soft felt hat. Everything about him breathed of the summer, and the cheerful world outside of these old walls, and life and youth and pleasure. Marjorie would have given something very valuable to have taken off her apron; but it was too late, and out of sheer pride it must stay on now. "Whatever has brought you here?" she asked, looking at him frankly. / 294 THE DUKE sleeve. The Duke, then, had deceived him, and this girl had been cut out under his nose. He vowed he should redress the balance. Yet he smiled sweetly as he answered— "In a sense I may even say that he sent me." Marjorie's spirits rose higher still, in spite of the poor secretary's discomfiture (for she almost for- gave him now), and it was with her happiest air and a note of interrogation in her eyes that she asked, "Do you want to see the castle?" rather as much as to imply that she did not really think he did. He read the indication in his own way, and looked at her with a glance that puzzled her. "Is it different from other castles?" he asked. "It has a damp smell, I suppose, and blood on the floors? I have inspected exactly four hundred and fifty such." "Then I won't show you much," she laughed. He looked with the air of a connoisseur through one or two rooms, jesting as he went, till they came into my lady's boudoir, a very pleasant old room, quite habitable-looking still, and commanding the most dazzling view of sea and coast. "Must I see any more? " he sighed. "Not unless you like." ^ V CHAPTER XIII ¥ AMBERT came down from the heather hills •*—' upon this the last day but one of secretaryship with a more set and serious face than he had ever worn in the old, careless, new-world days. It had insensibly been losing its devil-may-care-ness since he landed and more quickly since he came north, till now it had his birth-mark plainly written. The time had all but come to take the plunge, and face the world, and accept the consequences of his humour. Not that he cared much what all the de- ceived would say; they might go to the deuce for being such fools, thought he; but he reflected a good deal on the first step, the settling with the Gayes. It was a nuisance to have postponed it so long, and he might at any time have told the truth and ended the farce; but he had said he would let his substitute have a clear month, and as the reader may have gathered, he was an obstinate chip of an obstinate block. Exactly a month ago to-morrow 897 THE DUKE 299 He looked the visitor up and down, and then, "What the hell are you doing here? " he demand- ed; and never had Marjorie heard blasphemy sound so appropriate. His Lordship's hair was tumbled, his face flushed, and his passions up. There was nothing left of the sweet-tongued, boyish decadent. In still stronger language he requested to know the secretary's busi- ness there. Without replying to this, Lambert turned to Marjorie and found her close by his side. "What's he been doing? " he asked, with a calm- ness very ominous to such as knew him. "He said he came from the Duke," cried Mar- jorie, with tears in her voice, and her eyes flashing anger at his Lordship, " but he hasn't!" "Did he—" began Lambert, and stuck for a del- icate word—" bother you on anything?" "I—I didn't know he was going to," she said, turning scarlet and looking still more fiercely at the decadent. By this time Lord Crysanthemus had smoothed his hair and got himself under some control, though his eye was very nasty. "Will you get out of the room, Mr. Bounder, or secretary, or whatever you call yourself?" he r 300 THE DUKE said with the haughtiness of a noble talking to a plebeian. "Do you know who I am?" "A dirty little brute." "I'm a gentleman, if you know what that is!" screamed his Lordship; " and you may feel devilish well flattered to have one come and kiss your" "Take care," said Lambert, coming towards him. "Don't you know when to stop?" As he continued to advance, Lord Crysanthemus threw up his fists. "Stand off!" he shouted. He had courage enough, despite his vices, but scarcely sufficient skill, for the next instant Lambert's left arm had shot out and the fair head struck the wall in its descent towards the floor. The force of the blow was astonishing for one of a comparatively light build and merely superficial knowledge of the science of the gloves, but it was really not the nineteenth-century Lambert who struck, but some old iron Haselle come for the mo- ment to life. For a longer time than would have counted as a knock-out in the ring Lord Crysanthe- mus lay on the floor recovering his wits, and when he rose it was with a very stupefied air. All fight had been clean knocked out of him, but his foe had not done with him yet. The old warrior just awak- ened had not been a merciful man in his generation; THE DUKE 301 he had frequently first beaten his enemies and then hanged them, and he had no intention of staying his hand just yet. "Get out!" he said, and without giving his Lordship time to take the required step even if he had wished to, he seized him by the collar with one hand, and after a brief struggle got the other home on the seat of his immaculate flannel trousers. Then, at a stumbling run, he forced the reckless aristocrat out of the room, along the passage, down a flight of steps, and through the hall; while Marjorie, between hysterical tears and laughter, watched the undignified exit. "I think," said Lambert, when he had got his victim to the top of the narrow stone stairs leading down from the hall, " you can go down these your- self." With the aid of a well-directed kick his Lordship did, and at a remarkable velocity. But Lambert was after him almost as fast, and had him firmly again. "This way," he said, and launched him through the front door and out on to the drive. By this time his Lordship presented a most lam- entable spectacle. He had lost his hat, his collar and his tie; his coat was split half-way down his /' 3o2 THE DUKE back, and, direst misfortune of all, his braces were burst. "Now," said Lambert, picking up a handful of pebbles, "I'll let you out as far as that first tree, and then you'd better scuttle, for I'm a fair shot with a stone." As indeed he was, and after at- tempting to depart at a dignified walk and being picked off twice at a short range, his Lordship took his host's advice. And so, hatless and collarless, holding up his trousers as he ran, and ducking to avoid the peb- bles, the gay Lord Crysanthemus cantered back from Dunwishart. Lambert returned slowly, and with a very medi- tative air; in the hall he stopped short to reflect, and then at a measured pace came back to the boudoir. He was trying to make head or tail of his sensations, and failing entirely. He found Marjorie where he had left her, only she had sunk into a chair, and he could see that she was trembling with the shock of what had hap- pened. She looked up when he entered, and said merely, " Thank you." Lambert only smiled a little in a quite absent way. He was still trying to think clearly where he stood and who he was; for the blood of the fighting THE DUKE 303 ancestor still coursed tumultuously through his veins. But he was well aware of one thing, and that was the stirring picture Marjorie made with her hair a little loose and the colour fast coming back. Suddenly he seemed to wake up. "Did that man say he came from the Duke of Grandon?" "Yes—but he didn't, really." "I know that," said he, with a confidence that a little surprised her. "You thought he had come on your mother's business? " he asked next. "Yes," she admitted, without any of her defi- ance. "Shall we settle that now?" he said. She gave him a half-frightened, appealing look, as much as to say, " Can't you let it rest?" "Miss Gaye, what do you think I came here for?" he asked, not sharply, but rather as though he implored her to consider. With something of her old spirit, she an- swered— "To find out something you thought my father had done—and force it out of mother." "On the Duke's behalf; you know?" CHAPTER XIV •yWENTY-FOUR hours after Lord Crysanthe- * mus, Sir Pursuivant arrived at the wayside station and drove to the village inn. Being, how- ever, of a less impetuous disposition and accus- tomed to do everything in a very deliberate, me- thodical fashion, he did not, like his Lordship, hasten straight to the castle, but after consulting his watch and making due calculation, decided first to dine and then walk up in the evening. "Might find 'em dinin'," he reflected, "or else gone out. Evenin's safest." For it never entered the Baronet's calculations that, except in gay London, people ever moved about after dinner. But when he reached Dunwishart he learned that both the secretary (to still call him so) and Miss Gaye were actually out. Doubtless they would soon return, and in the meanwhile, Mrs. Gaye, hav- ing apparently recovered from her indisposition, would be able to receive him. 307 THE DUKE 311 "Of what?" "Of being "she began shyly. "A duchess? " he asked lightly. "Oh, Lambert," she said, with a little laugh, "I shall always think of Alice in Wonderland!" Sir Pursuivant could hear the young Duke laugh softly. "No wonder, for we are there," he said—" I from the backwoods, and you from" "The school-room," she whispered. "Come to Wonderland to play at being great. We shall make a pretty pair!" Then, holding her back to see her face, he said again, "Marjorie!" And he bent quickly over her. Sir Pursuivant could catch no words, but he de- tected another sound, and suddenly awakening to the fact that he had heard as much as he wanted and more than he ought, he cautiously descended the ridge and started at a swinging stride back towards the castle. "Thank God, Frank's safe!" was his first thought. "Never hear any more o' that old scandal; the Duke won't foul his wife's nest." His second was quite characteristic of the Baronet. "Who the deuce is she? Harry Gaye was one of the Led- / CHAPTER XV OOMETHING splendid was evidently happen- ^ ing at Grandon House. Every window was ablaze, a bright awning led up to the door, a crowd had gathered to stare, policemen patrolled the pavement, a string band were trooping in. Within the doors a host of servants walked about, arrang- ing banks of flowers, sweeping up the last of the litter, and almost making a crowded company of themselves. Surely the stately chambers and aris- tocratic upholstery must be satisfied now; no more lavish beginning to an entertainment could have been made by their most legitimate owner. Every reception-room was prepared; acres of polished floor to dance on; hundreds of soft seats to sit in; and everywhere a reckless display of the rarest flowers that a botanist could discover and a million- aire pay for. In his dressing-room, surrounded by every ap- pliance that ingenuity had devised for the groom- ing of a nobleman, his Grace of Grandon was 319 320 THE DUKE putting the last touches to his toilet. The heavy work of dressing being over, his valet had been dis- missed, and he was left to look at himself at various angles in a series of mirrors, and enjoy a few min- utes of pleasing meditation. The ball had been a bright inspiration to occupy an evening that happened to be free. The notice had certainly been short, but the rumour had been industriously circulated that the entertainment was going to be the most splendid of the season, and he had the satisfaction of hearing on all sides that everybody—the most exclusive everybody—was coming. It was to mark the beginning of his ab- solute reign: last night the period of borrowed plumage had ended; to-day he was defiantly in pos- session of the dukedom. Nothing, absolutely noth- ing, had come to oppose his designs. The hour had passed, a night had passed, a day had passed, and there was not a sign that he would ever be mo- lested. His temperament was always sanguine, his head completely turned by this time, and already he had quite made up his mind that he was established here for his life if he chose to stay. At one moment, as the time for the relinquishment was drawing near, he had gone the length of composing an effective speech to be hurled at the head of the pre- V THE DUKE 325 He was sitting, bent thoughtfully, with his back to the door, when suddenly he heard it open with- out any preliminary knock. He turned angrily, and there stood Lambert, in evening clothes, look- ing very gravely at him. "How are you? " said the real Duke quietly, as if nothing whatever had happened. The impostor could only stare at this appari- tion. "Time's up, Jack." At this Jack started up. "Ye upstart!" he shouted. It was the begin- ning of the speech he had composed, but at the sight of Lambert's cleared-for-action aspect it went no further. He liked a row as well as any man, but on this occasion he needed a better cause. "You'd better not be a fool," said Lambert, still perfectly smoothly. "What d'ye want?" "What I lent you. The loan ran out last night. Perhaps you'd forgotten?" The impostor met his eye, looked away, and hes- itated. At that moment there reached his ear a waft of music. It was his string band playing a waltz, and /. the duke 327 "Me dear boy, the only wonder to me is that there aren't more jooks; it's a fine profession!" "You found it amusing, then?" "So amusing, sir, that I'll take badly to brushing me own hair again, I tell ye." "Is that what you regret most?" asked Lam- bert. "Oh, there's me carriages, too—and me cellars —and one thing and another." "And your friends?" The favourite of society seemed to come as near reflecting as he ever did. "To tell ye the honest truth," he replied, "I'm not sure that one of them will miss me—faith, nor I them!" And doubtless he knew best. "This, I suppose, was a farewell party?" asked the Duke. For an instant his predecessor looked a little abashed, but the next moment he answered as light- ly as ever— "It's just a few of me special intimates come for a little dance." Lambert smiled. "You are doing things in style," he observed. "Lambert, me boy, that's the secret of a being / CHAPTER XVI A LL this time there was, as may be supposed, •**• some anxiety among the guests to know what had become of their host. The dancing had begun, the band was playing, the buzz of talk filled every room; but where was the Duke? Two ladies in particular were growing highly impatient, and peo- ple noticed these fortunate mothers, with their still more fortunate daughters at their heels, moving restlessly through the throng in the most evident state of expectation. Still there were no signs of his Grace. At last the sisters met face to face, and those who happened to be near them seemed both curious and amused in watching what would happen. For a very remarkable story was already going the round of the brilliant assembly. Each beamed with conscious triumph, each felt secretly a little surprised to see so complacent an expression on her sister's face, and each paused for a second for the congratulations which could 331 334 THE DUKE "By Jove, I b'lieve the people are goin' off!" ex- claimed Lord Roulett. "I shall inquire," said Mr. Stock, awakening also to the situation. At that moment the Baronet approached them. "Sorry to say somethin's happened to the Duke," he said gravely. "He's asked me to get people off quietly." "Is he ill?" cried Lady Roulett, assuming a most alarmed expression befitting the contin- gency. "Not exactly, but somethin' serious has oc- curred." "He is not unwell? " repeated Lady Georgiana. "Er—not quite," said the Baronet. "Then," said her Ladyship firmly, " I shall refuse to leave this house till I have seen him." "And I," cried her sister. "Certainly we refuse," said the Cabinet Minister, with prodigious energy. Sir Pursuivant looked a little perplexed. "I'll tell him what you say," he answered, and went away again. They waited for a few minutes in a condition of subdued wrath and excitement, the sole occupants now of the room, and then there entered the Baro- L V THE DUKE 337 "Complain of? " exclaimed the indignant Minis- ter. "Allow me, my dear. Permit me to speak! One moment, Roulett! Yes, sir, we do complain. We have been deceived, insulted, wounded, sir. What excuse have you to offer for practising this gross imposition?" "Only this," said the Duke calmly, "that I had no idea you would make such fools of your- selves." "Fools of ourselves!" screamed Lady Georgiana. "Yes; the moment what you imagined to be the Duke appeared, you thought of not a thing but catching him. You got what you wanted" "What we wanted?" her Ladyship interrupted, purple with indignation. "A duke—that was all. What did it matter to you if he should be drunk all day and abroad all night? If it was really the gentleman himself you were anxious about you can still stop him by tele- graph. Would you care to?" But her Ladyship neither then nor afterwards made any inquiry for the late peer's address. "Then, sir," said Mr. Stock, " do you offer us no satisfaction, no reparation? Are we to see our daughters" "Papa!" cried Julia. J* SOPHIA By STANLEY J. WEYMAN AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "UNDER THE RED ROBE," ETC. With 12 Illustrations by C. Hammond. Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.50. "Mr. Weyman's new romance illustrates the types and manners of fashion- able London society in the year 174a. In everything that means the revival of an historical atmosphere it is skilful, and, on the whole, just. The characters also are well realized. . . . 4 Sophia' is a decidedly interesting novel. . . . The tale moves swiftly, hurrying on from the town to the heath, from hatred to love, from imprisonment on bread and water to diamonds . . . and a dozen other things. Sophia, the heroine, is a handle of girlish foolishness and charms. 'Sophia,' the book, is a bundle of more or less extraordinary episodes woven into a story in the most beguiling manner."—NEW York Tribune, April, 1900. *' It is a good, lively, melodramatic story of love and adventure . . . it is safe to say that nobody who reads the lively episode in the first chapter will leave the book unfinished, because there is not a moment's break in the swift and dramatic narrative until the last page. . . . The dramatic sequence is nearly faultless."—TRIBUNE, CHICAGO. "Sophia, with her mistakes, her adventures, and her final surrender; Sophia moving among the eighteenth century world of fashion at Vauxhall; Sophia fly- ing through the country roads, pursued by an adventurer, and Sophia captured by her husband, transport one so far from this work-a-day life that the reader comes back surprised to find that this prosaic world is still here after that too- brief excursion into the realm of fancy." —New York Commercial Advertiser. "The gem of the book is its description of the long coach-ride made by Sophia to Sir Hervey's home in Sussex, the attempt made by highwaymen to rob her, and her adventures at the paved ford and in the house made silent by smallpox, where she took refuge. This section of the story is almost as breath- less as Smollett. ... In the general firmness of touch, and sureness of historic portrayal, the book deserves high praise."—Buffalo Express. "' Sophia' contains, in its earlier part, a series of incidents that is, we believe, the most ingenious yet planned by its author. . . . The adventure develops and grows, the tension increases with each page, to such an extent that the hackneyed adjective, * breathless,' finds an appropriate place." —New York Mail and Express. "* Sophia,' his latest, is also one of his best. A delightful spirit of adventure hangs about the story; something interesting happens in every chapter. The admirable ease of style, the smooth and natural dialogue, the perfect adjust- ment of events and sequences conceal all the usual obtiusive mechanism, and hold the curiosity of the reader throughout the development of an excellent plot and genuine people."—PUBLIC LEDGER, PHILADELPHIA, Pa. «* Those who read Mr. Stanley J. Weyman's 'Castle Inn' with delight, will find in his * Sophia ' an equally brilliant performance, in which they are intro- duced to another part of the Georgian era, . . . Mr. Weyman knows the eighteenth century from top to bottom, and could any time be more suitable for the writer of romance? . . . There is only one way to define the subtle charm and distinction of this book, and that is to say that it deserves a place on the book-shelf beside those dainty volumes in which Mr. Austin Dobson has em- balmed the very spirit of the period of the hoop and the patch, the coffee-house, and the sedan chair. And could Mr. Stanley Weyman ask for better company for his books than that t "—Evening Sun, New York. "Contains what is probably the most ingenious and exciting situation even he has ever invented."—Book Buyer, New York. LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., qfl-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YOBK. H< ,v