“He would simply laugh at it, I expect,” said Stuart.
“The Duke of Gloucester does not laugh at it,” returned the other.
Alistair’s face darkened at the name, and he cast down his eyes.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
St. Maur swelled with importance.
“I happen to have private information that he watches the proceedings of the Guild with the closest attention. He has everything that appears in the press about us sent him by a press-cutting agency.”
“I wish I had known that before,” said Alistair. And, turning to Hero, he explained: “I have let them have an autograph letter of the Prince’s to sell at one of the stalls.”
The absurdity of this did not strike Hero so much as its ingratitude.
“A letter from the Prince to you, do you mean?” she asked, with an accent of reproach.
“Yes; I used to know him very well when we were boys. I came across it the other day among some old papers. But I shouldn’t like him to hear that I had let it be sold.”