"Who?" demanded Diana, turning, with the frying pan in her hand.
"His lordship! What, don't ye know this gentleman's the Earl o' Wyvelstoke?" Diana set down the frying pan and turned upon his lordship with a frown.
"Is this true?" she demanded. "Are you a lord?"
"I am, Diana."
"An earl?"
"I confess it. But always your pal, I trust, notwithstanding—"
"Why, then you own Wyvelstoke Park?"
"I do."
"And—this wood?"
"Yes, Diana."