“And made his fortune by backing a downtrodden people against a vile aristocracy.” The Duke’s smile was so sour that it became a grimace. “In other words a self-made man.”
“Oh, yes—entirely!” The sudden generous warmth of admiration in Harriet’s tone surprised the Duke. “When one considers the enormous odds against him and what he has been able to do at the age of forty-two, it seems only right to think of him as wonderful.”
“Personally,” said his Grace, “I prefer to regard him as an unscrupulous scoundrel.”
Harriet dissented with a smile. “A great man,” she said softly.
“Let us leave it at a very dangerous man. He is a real menace, not only to us, but to the country. Anyhow, we have now to see that he doesn’t bring down the house about our ears.”
There was something in the tone that swept the color from Harriet’s face. “That I realize.” Her voice trembled painfully. “Oh, I do hope he has not mentioned the matter to Mary.” And she plucked at her dress in sudden alarm.
“Not yet, I think,” said the Duke venomously. “He is too sure a hand to spring his mine before the time is ripe. Meanwhile we are forearmed; let us take every precaution against him.”
“Oh, yes, we must!” Her eyes were tragic.
“A devilish mischance,” said the Duke slowly, “a devilish mischance that he, of all men, has been able to hit the trail.”
VI