For this reason his acceptance was a little stiffer than the Prince’s invitation. He began it “My dear Prince,” and signed himself “Yours ever.” The Prince had written “Yours affectionately.”
Nevertheless, Alistair was a good deal more touched by the overture than he was willing to betray.
He had not yet been adjudicated a bankrupt. But the Duke of Trent had suspended negotiations on his behalf, and he was to meet his creditors on the Monday to undergo the customary useless cross-examination as to how he had managed to get rid of the money.
At the very moment of departure he was confronted with the new difficulty of cash. Neither he nor Molly found themselves in possession of the price of a first-class ticket, and Alistair was too proud to go on such a visit unless he could do so in the way befitting his rank.
He solved the problem by ordering a cab to drive him to the railway-station, and making it stop at a famous pawnbroker’s on the way. It was his first visit to such an establishment, but the prospect of the journey put him in good spirits, and he tendered his French watch to the shopman with a certain enjoyment of the situation.
“I am going down to stay with the Duke of Gloucester, and I haven’t got my railway-fare,” he said, with perfect self-possession.
The shopman grinned at what appeared to him a lively witticism, and after examining the piece, offered ten pounds.
“What name shall I put?” he inquired, as Alistair signified his consent, preparing to write “Jackson” or “Thompson,” at his customer’s pleasure.
“Stuart—Lord Alistair Stuart,” came in the same assured tone.
This time the pawnbroker laughed out.