The Duke found his cousin in the parlour, glancing through the Morning Post, which had just arrived from London by the mail-coach. He said, in an awed voice: “Gideon, the most dreadful thing! I have been quite deceived in that footman of mine!”
Captain Ware lowered the newspaper. “Good God, what has he done?”
“Why, nothing! But I thought he did not care a button what became of me, and I find he is as bad as all the rest! They must have drummed their nonsense into his head, for I never did the least thing to attach him to my interests! It is the most disheartening thing! He will grow old in my service, and become a dead bore to my sons!”
Captain Ware roared with laughter. “Dismiss him instantly, Adolphus, dismiss him instantly!”
“Oh, I couldn’t do so! It would be the unkindest thing!” said the Duke involuntarily.
“Then I fear that until you can bring yourself to do unkind things you must submit to being the idol of your servants. Tell me, would you be content to accept a Rudgeley for your Mudgley?”
“Are you trying to roast me? What do you mean?”
“Only that in obedience to your commands I have been pursuing some few enquiries. I am credibly informed that the receiving-office here has frequently handled letters addressed to a Mr. Rudgeley residing at Little End, Priston. Could Belinda have been mistaken in the name, do you suppose?”
“Oh, very easily! You are the best of good fellows, Gideon! Where is Priston?”
“Somewhere to the southwest, I’m told. Not very far, but off the pike-road.”