Looking quite as guilty as Harriet, Gilly said: “Well, yes, Belinda, as it chances I am a Duke! I had meant to have told you, but it went out of my head. It doesn’t signify, you know.”
Belinda gazed at him, an expression in her face of mingled incredulity and disappointment. “Oh, no, I am sure it is a hum!” she exclaimed. “You are teasing me, sir! As though I did not know a Duke would be a much grander person!”
Harriet said in a stifled voice: “He is very grand when he wears his robes, I assure you!”
“Well!” Belinda said, quite disillusioned. “I thought a Duke would be very tall, and handsome, and stately! I was never so taken-in!”
The Duke bowed his head in his hands. “Oh, Belinda, Belinda!” he said. “Indeed, I am very sorry. I only wish I may not have destroyed your faith in Dukes!”
“But do you wear a coronet, and purple robe?” asked Belinda.
“No, no, only one of scarlet cloth!”
“Cloth! The shabbiest thing!” she cried. “I thought you would have worn a velvet one!”
“Ah, but it was lined with white taffeta, and doubled with four guards of ermine!” he said gravely.
“Gilly, don’t be so provoking to the poor child!” said Harriet, controlling a quivering lip. “You know that was only your parliamentary dress! I am sure you have a crimson velvet mantle for state occasions, for I know Papa does. Don’t look so sad, Belinda! Indeed, it is a very grand dress, and I will show you a picture of it presently, in a book belonging to my grandmama.”