The latter bowed low.
“Good evening, Miss Susan Crail.”
“Good evening.”
‘His Grace’ stared. Then—
“Oh, ’elp,” he said. “Any more for the throne-room?” He bowed grotesquely. “Good sunset, sweeting. What doth the night-light say?”
“Too late,” said Susan pleasantly. “I’ve a letter to write.”
“Splendid,” said ‘the Duke.’ “We’ll tell you what to say, shall I?” He linked her arm in his and turned to Labotte. “If I’m not back in half an hour, Saddle-soap——”
Labotte raised his eyebrows.
“I do nod think,” he announced, “you will be zo long.” Suddenly his eyes gleamed. “But there,” he added, “I do nod know. Perhaps . . . I tell you, when she was naize, she was vairy, vairy naize.” He closed his eyes and vented a happy sigh.
Susan felt rather sick.