‘Papa, will you go to-morrow to Hauteville?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Dacre: ‘we never postpone; we never prepare.’
‘But do not you think a day, at least, had better intervene?’ urged Mr. Dacre; ‘we shall be unexpected.’
‘I vote for to-morrow,’ said the Duke.
‘To-morrow!’ was the universal exclamation. Tomorrow was carried.
‘I will write to Blanche at once,’ said the Duke.
Mrs. Dallington Vere ran for the writing materials, and his Grace indicted the following pithy note:—
‘Half-past Ten, Castle Dacre.
‘Dear Sir Carte,