“They could not be pleasanter—but they might be more prolonged,” said I.
“It was so good of you to come,” she said, pressing my hand.
“The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!” cried Suzanne warningly.
“How very annoying it is! I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the duke!”
“I shall not forget my day here,” I assured her.
“You won’t? It’s charming of you. Oh, how dull it will be now! It only wanted the arrival of—Well, good-by!”
And with a final and long pressure of the duchess’ hand, I, in the garb and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the château.
“One thing,” I observed to myself as I started, “would seem highly probable—and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before.”
The idea did not please me. I like to do things first.