“That is not a proper way to speak of your Papa, Tom, and it is moreover quite untrue,” replied the Duke, removing the clutch from his arm.
“What you need,” Mr. Mamble informed his son bodingly, “is to have your jacket well dusted, my lad! Ay, and it’s what you’ll get before you’re much older!”
“And that,” said the Duke, “is hardly a felicitous way of recommending yourself to your son, sir.”
What Mr. Mamble might have replied to this was never known, for at that moment the constable who had been sent to Laura Place ushered Lady Harriet into the room.
The Duke leaped to his feet, exclaiming: “Harriet!”
She put back her veil, blushing, and saying in her soft shy voice: “I thought I should come myself. Gaywood is gone out, and you know how he would roast you! I am so very sorry you have been kept in this horrid place for so long! I had gone out with Belinda, and this poor man was obliged to stay till I returned.
The Duke took her hand, and kissed it. “I would not have had you come for the world!” he said. “Indeed, I don’t know what I deserve for dragging you into such a coil! You did not come alone!”
“No, indeed, the constable brought me,” she assured him. “I beg your pardon if you do not like it, Gilly, but I did not wish to bring my maid, or James, for they would have been bound to gave gossiped about it, you know. What is it I must do to have you set at liberty?”
She looked enquiringly towards the senior constable as she spoke, who bowed very low, and said that if it was not troubling her ladyship too much he would be obliged to her for stating whether or not the gentleman was the Duke of Sale.
“Oh, yes, certainly he is!” she said. She blushed more than ever, and added: “I am engaged to be married to him, so, you see, I must know.”