Simms nodded at Jones as though he knew him.
“I have asked these gentlemen as friends of the family to step in and talk about this matter before seeing Lady Rochester,” said the Duke. “She has been taken to her room, and is not yet prepared for visitors.”
“I shall be delighted to help in any way,” said Simms; “my services, professional or private, are always at your disposal, your grace.” He sat down and turned to Jones. “Now tell us all about it,” said he.
Cavendish took another chair and the Duke remained standing.
Jones felt irritated, felt somewhat as a maestro would feel who, having finished that musical obstacle race The Grand Polonnaise, finds himself requested to play it again.
“I’ve told the whole thing once,” said he, “I can’t go over it again—the Duke knows.”
Suddenly Cavendish spoke:
“I understand from what his grace said on the stairs, that there is some trouble about identity?”
“Some trouble,” said Jones; “I reckon you are right in calling it some trouble.”
“You are Mr. Jones, I think,” said Simms.