“Just a scratch,” said Gideon.
“Tell me all about it, sir, please! ”
“Yes, some other time he will,” said the Duke, recklessly committing his cousin. “But not, I think, tonight, for it is growing late, and—” He broke off suddenly, catching sight of his valet, standing in the doorway, and dumbly regarding him. “Nettlebed! But, good God, how in the world—?”
“I brought him along with me,” explained Gideon. “Found him with Matt, in Baldock, hunting for you.”
“My lord!” said Nettlebed, in a queer voice. “My lord! I thank God I’ve found your Grace! I shall never forgive myself, never!”
“Oh, no, no, no!” said the Duke, laying a hand on his arm, and shaking it playfully. “Now, Nettlebed, pray don’t be upset for nothing! You see I am very well! Yes, and extremely glad to have you with me again, for I have missed you very much, I assure you. But I do wish you had not left London! I sent an express to Scriven last night, desiring him to tell you to come to me, with all my gear!”
“My lord, I had to do it!” Nettlebed said. “But I will never do anything your Grace does not wish again, if only your Grace will forgive me!”
“But I have nothing in the world to forgive,” the Duke said gently. “Oh, are you thinking how cross you were with me on the morning I ran away from you all? Well, I meant you to be cross, so perhaps it is I who should be begging your pardon. Now, do pray go and set all to rights in my room, Nettlebed! I am not the least hand at keeping my traps in order, and I shall be very glad to have them tidied for me again.”
This request had the desired effect of making Nettlebed pull himself together. His eye brightened, and he assured the Duke that he had no longer any need to trouble his head over such matters. Before he left the room, he swept the cloth from the table, which the waiter had neglected to do, made up the fire, and straightened the cushions on the sofa, as though in the performance of these acts of service his wounded soul found balm. After that, he withdrew, but saw to it that his presence should still be felt by sending up the waiter with another bottle of port, and one of brandy.
The Duke, who wanted to be alone with his cousin, was then guilty of a piece of strategy. He told Tom that it was time he went off to bed. This aroused Mr. Mamble from some dream of grandeur, and he not only endorsed the command, but said that it was time he went back to the White Horse. He seemed undecided whether to remove from this house to the Pelican on the morrow, or to wrest the unwilling Tom from the Duke. The possibility of having Mr. Mamble as a fellow-guest wrought so powerfully on the Duke’s mind that the first thing he said to his cousin, when he returned from seeing one Mamble off, and the other to his bedchamber, was: “There’s only one thing to be done! I’ll send them both to Cheyney! I promised Tom he should go there to shoot, and I expect his father would like of all things to stay in a Duke’s house.”