He uttered an exclamation, and, advancing upon this person, accosted him decidedly cavalierly.
“You here, Dunlone!” he said. “This is entirely unexpected.”
The viscount in his disdain looked particularly like a camel; but he gave no answer.
“Well,” said Tuke, “being here, I should like to ask you a question. Have you acquainted our friends of my real title?”
“Oh, curse it, no!” said the lord. “What the devil’s it got to do with me?”
“That’s right. I have my reasons for the change, of course, and I’ll ask you to respect them.”
“I give myself no cursed concern about it. I don’t know that it makes much difference,” cried my lord irritably. “You seem to think I’ve no affairs but yours to consider.”
“You’ll not be offensive, I know,” said Tuke. “It’s not your way.”
The other sniffed and preceded the visitor into the drawing-room. He, the latter, pondered profoundly on his short journey thither, and steeled himself against probabilities.
But here he was agreeably and quite surprisingly flattered. Miss Royston received him with a charming naïveté of welcome, and seemed to encourage him to assume the rôle of a familiar neighbour.