Three days after Lady Wargrave had gained her signal triumph over Mrs. Sanderson, the Duke was at home to an odd visitor. In obedience to the written request of his Grace’s private secretary, Sergeant Kelly presented himself about noon at Bridport House.
Fortunately, Joe had been able to arrange for a day off for the purpose. Thus the dignity of man, also the dignity of the Metropolitan Force, were upheld by impressive mufti. He had discarded uniform for his best Sunday cutaway, old and rather shining it was true, but black and braided, with every crease removed by Eliza’s iron; a pair of light gray trousers, superbly checked; a white choker tie and a horse-shoe pin; while to crown all, a massive gold albert, a recent gift from Mary, was slung across a noble expanse of broadcloth waistcoat.
“Good morning, Sergeant Kelly,” said a musical voice, as soon as the visitor was announced. The Duke in the depths of his invalid chair looked at him from under the brows of a satyr. “Excuse my rising. I’m a bit below the weather, as you see.”
Joe, secretly prepared for anything in the matter of his reception, was impressed most favorably by such a greeting. Somehow the note of cordiality was so exactly that of one man of the world to another, that Joe was conscious of a subtle feeling of flattery. He was invited to sit, and he sat on the extreme verge of a Sheraton masterpiece, pensively twisting between his hands a brand-new bowler hat purchased that morning en route to Bridport House.
“Sergeant Kelly,” said the Duke, speaking with a directness that Joe admired, “I liked your letter. It was that of a sensible man.”
“Good of your Grace to say so,” said Joe, a nice mingling of dignity and deference.
“I agree with you that the matter is extremely vexatious.”
Joe took a long breath. “It’s haggeravating, sir,” said he.
“Quite so,” said his Grace, with a whimsical smile. “But as a matter of curiosity, may I ask what had led you to that conclusion?”
“Just this, sir.” Joe laid the new bowler hat on the carpet, squared his shoulders and fixed the Duke with his eye. “The aristocracy’s the aristocracy, the middle-class is the middle-class, and the lower h’orders are the lower h’orders—there they are and you can’t alter ’em. Leastways that was the opinion of the Marquis.”