“Oh, it wasn’t Mr. Ware!” said Belinda sunnily.
Mr. Liversedge raised his aching head from between his hands and stared at her in blear-eyed surprise. “ What? ” he demanded. “Did you say it was not Mr. Ware?”
“Oh, no! Mr. Ware is a much prettier young gentleman,” said Belinda. “He is tall, and handsome, and—”
“Then who the devil was he?” interrupted Mr. Liversedge incredulously.
“I don’t know. He did not say what his name was, and I didn’t think to ask him,” replied Belinda, rather regretfully.
Mr. Liversedge hoisted himself out of his chair with an effort. “My God, what have I done to be saddled with such a fool?” he exclaimed. “If he was not Ware,— why—why, girl, could you not have told me so?”
“I didn’t know you would wish me to,” said Belinda innocently. “You said I must say just what you told me, and you don’t like it if I don’t obey you. And I like him quite as well as Mr. Ware,” she added consolingly.
Mr. Liversedge boxed her ears.
Chapter XI
The Duke returned to Baldock in high fettle. For one who had never before fended for himself, he had managed the affair, he thought, pretty well. Matthew’s letters were safely tucked into his pocket; he had not paid Mr. Liversedge a farthing for them; and he had not had recourse to Manton’s pistol. Even Gideon could hardly have done better. In fact, Gideon would probably not have done as well, since Mr. Liversedge, confronted by his formidable size and extremely purposeful manner, would undoubtedly have conducted himself far more warily. Gilly was too modest not to realize that the success of his stratagem must be largely attributed to his lack of inches, and his quite unalarming appearance. Mr. Liversedge had palpably summed him up as a scared boy within one minute of his having entered his parlour, and had not thought it necessary to be upon his guard. That had not been very wise of Mr. Liversedge, but Gilly was inclined to suspect that for all the breadth and scope of his visions, Mr. Liversedge was not a rogue of any great mental attainment. However, be that as it might, Gilly had scarcely expected to have succeeded so well, and he thought he had a very good right to feel in charity with himself. Nothing now remained to do but to burn Matthew’s letters, set Matthew’s anxious mind at rest, and go back to London with Tom next day. In his present mood he was rather sorry to have no excuse for absenting himself any longer from his household. Certain aspects of his stolen journey had not been altogether comfortable, but on the whole he had enjoyed himself very well, and he had derived a good deal of satisfaction from the discovery that he was not as helpless as he had feared he might be.