“Richelieu?”
“Yes. That Frenchman—the Lord Cardinal—you know. Mar saw Forrest do him out in St. Louis.”
“Do him?”
“Yes, in the theayter.”
With a confused misconception of his meaning, Mainwaring tried to recall the historical dress of the great Cardinal and fit it to the masquerader—if such he were—before him. But Richelieu relieved him by adding,—
“Richelieu Sharpe.”
“Oh, that's your NAME!” said Mainwaring, cheerfully. “Then you're Miss Minty's brother. I know her. How jolly lucky!”
They both shook hands again. Richelieu, eager to get rid of the burden of his sister's message, which he felt was in the way of free-and-easy intercourse with this charming stranger, looked uneasily towards the house.
“I say,” said Mainwaring, “if you're in a hurry, you'd better go in there and knock. I hear some one stirring in the kitchen.”
Richelieu nodded, but first went back to the steps of the veranda, picked up a small blue knotted handkerchief, apparently containing some heavy objects, and repassed Mainwaring.