The duke watched him gravely.
"You doubt my word, Yorke?"
"No, no! But I say you are mistaken. There was something else."
"What else, what other cause could there be? No, I tell you that it was the agony of disappointed ambition——."
Yorke laughed again.
The duke flushed.
"Come," he said, "you will not credit my statement, or rely on my judgment. Perhaps you are right. A man should have faith in the purity and single-mindedness of the woman he loves. But facts are stubborn things."
"Facts?"
"Yes! She had arranged to come up to London to you—to send to you. I don't know what plans you made, but I can imagine them. I know how I should have arranged in your case. Well, she is in London, or has been, and has she sent to you, has she met you as she promised?"
Yorke gazed at him with a half doubtful, half scornful expression.