It appeared to do very well, all the same, for the sweet voice remarked, with no trace of surprise, “Oh, of course, you’re his poor brother; mamma—I’m Miss Hordern, you know, Miss Angela Hordern—told me about you. Please don’t let yourself become nervous or—or excited.”
Monsieur Alphonse’s voice suddenly broke forth, crying loudly: “I have ze fevaar—ze fevaar—veri bad fevaar!”
“Point de zele! Talleyrand was right,” said the Duke sadly.
“Who’s that?” cried Miss Angela. “Is some poor man ill in there? Oh, it’s not Devil himself, is it?”
No answer came from Frank, unless a realistically idiotic chuckle, faintly struggling, as it seemed to the Duke’s ears, with more natural mirth, may be counted as such.
“I must see this girl,” said the Duke.
“I think I’d better call again to-morrow,” said Miss Angela. “I’m in a hurry now—it’s Mothers’ Meeting night. I’ll come in to-morrow. Will you give this to your brother? Mamma sent it. Can you understand me, poor fellow?
“Yahoo, yahoo,” murmured Frank.
The door closed. The Duke dashed to the window, furtively drew the blind a little aside, and looked out.
“Upon my word!” said the Duke. “Yes, upon my word!” he reflected, twisting his moustache as he returned to the table.