“Leave your father to me, and be guided entirely by me in this matter. I have a plan mapped out if he will not give his consent at once. Do you wish to marry this man?”
Miss Forbes drew a hard breath. “I want to marry him more than anything in the world,” she said.
CHAPTER XII.
About the same time, as the Duke of Bosworth was dressing for dinner in his rooms at The Waldorf, he received the following note:—
“Duky, Duky, Daddledums!—I have great news for you. Rush your engagements, and come here between twelve and one to-night.
F. C.”
As the young Englishman entered Cuyler’s rooms a little after midnight, he received such warmth of greeting from a powerful hand concealed behind the portière that his backbone doubled.
“For God’s sake, Fletcher,” he said crossly, “remember that I am not a Hercules. What do you want of me?”
“Sit down. Sit down. I’ll put you in a good humour if I have to break a bank. I’ve pledged it to my peace of mind. Well, first—Creighton has practically gone to smash.”
“I know it. He told me so this afternoon. Poor man, I felt sorry for him; and I think he did for me, although his respect may have been something less than his pity. I know I felt uncommonly cheap, and if he had kicked me out I doubt if I should have resented it. He said that what with his daughter’s fortune and some land investments, he might scrape together a hundred thousand pounds. I told him it wouldn’t pay my debts. Then I had an interview with her. Don’t ask me to repeat it. Good God, what have we come to? Drop the subject.”