"The duke! Open instantly!"
"It is quite impossible," said another voice from within. It was calm and firm. "I am dressing."
"I must see you this instant. Open or I shall force the door!"
"Is your serene Highness mad?"
"Will you open this door?"
"You command it?"
"A hundred times, yes!"
"Since you command it." The voice was no longer calm; it was sharp and angry.
The wait seemed an hour to his serene Highness, serene no longer. At length the bolt slipped, and the irate duke shouldered his way in. The tableau which met his gaze embarrassed him for a space. He was even ashamed. The Honorable Betty stood behind a tall-backed chair, an opera cloak thrown hastily over her bare shoulders. Her hair was partly down. A beautiful woman in a rage is a fascinating sight. The duke stared at her irresolutely.
"Will your Highness explain this extraordinary intrusion?" she demanded. "You have literally forced your way into my room while I am dressing. It is utterly outside my understanding."