"Rather a rum idea, old chap, isn't it?" he said, with an uneasy laugh.
"Call it so if you like," responded the duke, with, if possible, increased eagerness. "Are you going to refuse me, Yorke? By Heaven!"—his thin face flushed—"it is the first, the only thing I have ever asked of you——."
"Hold on!" interrupted Yorke Auchester, almost sternly. "I did not say I would refuse; you know that I cannot. You have been the best friend——."
The duke raised his hand.
"I knew you would not. Ring the bell, will you?" His voice, his hand, as he pointed to the bell, trembled.
Yorke Auchester strode across the room and rang the bell.
Grey entered.
"Grey," said the duke, in a low voice, "how came this woman to know my name?"
"It was a mistake, your grace," said Grey, troubled and remorseful. "I let it slip when I was wiring, and the idiot at the telegraph station in London must have wired it down to the people on his own account. But—but, your grace, she doesn't know much after all, for she didn't know which is the dook, as she calls it, beggin' your pardon, your grace."
The duke nodded, clasping his hands impatiently and eagerly.