The time seemed very long to the Duke of Battersea. The moments were important. Fitzgerald was gone but twenty-five minutes, and when he returned the Duke was glad to hear two shambling footsteps accompanying Fitzgerald's own decided step down the marble of the passage.
And sure enough, there came in, half a head above the tall young man, the taller, somewhat hesitating figure with its good-natured face, upon which could now be very palpably read a lack of ease.
The Duke of Battersea put out his hand, but Mr. Bailey was so awkward as to be occupied at that moment in blowing his nose. It was but one of many indications of the man's inward disturbance. Then he sat down, and behind him, without a word of comment or apology, Fitzgerald withdrew and was off to Mr. Clutterbuck's home.
When they were alone the Duke of Battersea said in a very gentle but very decided tone:
"Mr. Bailey, I think we know each other. I want to tell you a story. Will you listen out?"
"Listen what?" said Mr. Bailey, with his irritating verbal quibbles.
"Listen out to me," said the Duke of Battersea, certain of his idiom.
"Would I listen you out?" said Mr. Bailey.
"Yes," said the Duke of Battersea, still thoroughly master of himself.
"Go ahead," said Mr. Bailey. He leant back, put his hands into his pockets as though that drawing-room were the most familiar to him in the world, and surveyed the Duke of Battersea downward through half-shut eyes.