“When I need you, I will ring for you,” said the Duke. “At this present I want nothing! At least—Yes, I do! If Mr. Scriven should not have left the house, desire him to come to me, if you please!”
“Yes, your Grace!”
It seemed that Mr. Scriven had not left the house, for in a very few minutes he presented himself in the library. He found the Duke sitting at the big carved desk, biting the end of a quill, and regarding with dissatisfaction a scrawled sheet of paper. Several screwed-up balls of paper cast in the direction of the fireplace bore witness to frustrated literary endeavour.
“You wished to see me, my lord?” said Mr. Scriven, advancing into the room.
The Duke looked up, a boyishly rueful smile in his eyes. “I can do not the least thing for myself, Scriven!” he said. “Here have I been wasting I know not how long trying to write the simplest notice, and making the sorriest work of it!”
“You know you may depend upon me, my lord, to do anything for you that you desire,” said Mr. Scriven, in a soothing voice. “May I know what it is that is giving you so much trouble?”
“Merely the notice of my engagement for the Gazette! You would say a simple matter, but only see what a botch I have made of it!”
Mr. Scriven had been moving towards the desk, but at these words he halted. “Your engagement, my lord!”
“Yes, to the Lady Harriet Presteigne. It must be announced, you know, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you will draft a suitable notice for me.”
“May I say, my lord Duke,” said Mr. Scriven, deeply moved, “that there is no task you could lay upon me which I could undertake with more gratification? I hope your Grace will permit me to offer my sincerest felicitations upon this most happy event!”