"Suppose this concert had come along next week, Duke—you could have still gone. Caught the midnight from Euston."
There must have been telepathic communication between Sir Harry and the Duke, for he replied—
"The Ironic does not call at Queenstown."
"S—sh!"
There was tremendous applause for the vicar. His audience smiled at him proprietorially and approvingly.
He was very pleased, he said, to see so many there that evening. He was afraid the postponement might have seriously jeopardized the success of the soirée, but our friend Sir Harry Tanneur (applause), whose name he should imagine was a household word throughout England (he ventured daringly), had been so anxious to be present and so munificent withal, that he had acceded to his wishes.
As this seemed the proper place to applaud, the audience dutifully applauded.
They were there primarily to assist an excellent cause. It was an open secret that the organ debt had seriously engaged the attention of those excellent gentlemen who administered the church funds (hear, hear, from the audience and "poor old organ" from the Duke), and it has been suggested that this entertainment should be provided with a view to the debt's reduction. Now as to the splendid fare that was to be set before them to-night, they had their friend the noble Duc de Montvillier (cheers), a gentleman who had always proved himself a ready and willing helper in church matters.
The girl looked at the Duke to see how he would take this gracious fiction. With folded arms and grave self-appreciation on every line of his face he accepted the undeserved tribute as his right.
"What a humbug you are," she murmured.