“By the book,” said Mr. Pompey, swelling, “a marchioness, sir—a marchioness. And a chit of a girl, too—ties her very ribbons like a damn blue-blooded countess.... I wonder where some women get it!”
Doome rose from his chair languidly, and strolled over to the fussing excited man:
“Lord of advertisements,” said he, tapping the chest of the other—“there is a book you do not read—it would baffle you as Bradshaw’s railway guide baffles me. That book is called The Extinct and Dormant Peerage.”
The stout millionaire stared at him with questioning eyes:
“Well?” he asked.
“Well,” said Bartholomew Doome—“she comes out of that.”
CHAPTER XXXII
Wherein the Gallant Major rises from the Dead