"What has he done?" demands 'Duke, growing a trifle paler.
"No harm to any one. Make me your vow first."
"I vow, then," says he, impatiently. And I forthwith repeat to him word for word all that passed between Sir Mark and me, in the evergreen walk.
"The scoundrel!" says 'Duke, when I have finished.
"Yes, just so," say I. "I really think he must have gone mad. However, there was no excuse for it, so I simply ordered him out of the house. He looked dreadfully unhappy. After all, perhaps he could not help it."
'Duke laughs in spite of his anger, which is extreme.
"Of all the conceited little women!" he says. "What gave you the headache last night? Was it his conduct?"
"Well, I think it was founded on a determination not to see him again. But I was afraid to tell you anything then, lest you might refuse to sit at table with him, or be uncivil, or have a row in any way. You will remember your promise, 'Duke, and let him go quietly away. An explanation would do no good. Once he is gone, it will not signify."
"He used to be such a good fellow," says 'Duke, in a puzzled, provoked tone.
"Well, he is anything but that now," reply I, with decision. "If you go away now, 'Duke, I think I will get up. I dare say he will be on his way to London by the time I am dressed."