"Come off, Pegasus," begged Hank.
"The fierce floods of white sunlight and the quivering skyline ahead," mused the Duke dreamily, "the innocent days and the dreamless nights."
"No fierce floods in mine," said Hank decisively; "me for the flesh pots of Egypt, the sinful life."
"Do you ever——"
"Take a walk—you," said Hank rudely. "Say your love-sick piece to the shop windows. What are you going to do about Captain Tanneur—the bold militia man?"
"I suppose," said his grace, "he's been sent for to protect the innocent girl from the unwelcome addresses of the wicked duke. I'll have a talk with him."
He strolled into the garden, dragging the step ladder with him. He planted it against the wall this time, and mounting slowly surveyed the next garden.
His luck was in, for the object of his search sat in a big basket chair reading the Sporting Life.
"Hullo," said the Duke.
Hal looked up and scowled. So this was the persecutor.