“Yes, and for lots of fun,” she whispered with a blush.
The Duke looked away, sighed, released her hand, helped her into the cab, and retired to a distance of some yards. The young lady spoke a few words to the cabman, took her seat, waved a small hand, held up the Queen Bess flagon, kissed it, and drove away.
“If,” observed the Duke with a sigh, “I were not a well-bred man, I should have asked her name,” and he made his way back to his house in a somewhat pensive mood.
On reaching home, however, he perceived the brougham standing before his door. A new direction was thus given to his meditations. He opened the gate of his stable-yard, and, taking the horse’s head, led it in. Having unharnessed it, he put it in the stable and fed and watered it; the brougham he drew into the coach-house. Then he went indoors, partook of some brandy mixed with water, and went to bed.
At eleven o’clock the next morning Frank, the Duke’s man, came up to Hampstead to attend to his Grace’s wants. The Duke was still in bed, but, on breakfast being ready, he rose and came downstairs in his dressing-gown and a pair of large and very easy slippers.
“I hope your Grace slept well?” said Frank.
“I never passed a better night, thank you, Frank,” said the Duke as he chipped the top off his egg.
“Half-an-hour ago, your Grace,” Frank continued, “a man called.”
“To see me?”