Yorke Auchester's hand dropped from the duke's shoulder.
"Marry some young girl who loves you for yourself alone."
"She's not likely to love me for anything else."
"All the better. Oh, Heaven! What would I not give for such a love as that?" broke out the duke.
As the passionate exclamation left his lips the door opened, and Mrs. Whiting, the landlady, came in. Her face was flushed; she was in a state of nervous excitement, caused by a mixture of curiosity and fear.
"I beg your pardon, your grace," she faltered, puffing timorously; "but did you ring?"
The duke looked straight at the woman, and then up at Yorke Auchester.
"No," said Yorke.
"I beg your grace's pardon," the curious woman began, stammeringly; but Grey coming behind her seized her by the arm, and, none too gently, swung her into the passage and closed the door.
The duke looked down frowningly.