She arranged her ball greatly to her satisfaction in every detail before she went down for the Easter recess. But there was one thing which had been difficult. That was, to persuade the Duke, who always insisted on revising her list for parties given at his houses, whether in town or country, to allow that of Massarene to remain on it. He inquired who the Massarenes were; and did not inquire only of herself, but of others. He was most decidedly opposed to the presence of such people at Otterbourne House. But Blair Airon was not yet definitely purchased, and it had been given to her to understand that unless the gates of Otterbourne House unclosed, that purchase never might be ratified. All her ingenuity, all her cajolery, all her infinite skill in the manipulation of the minds and wills of men, failed absolutely for a long time with the old Duke. He would not have a man come from God knew where—well, from the State of Dakota, that was equally indefinite—brought within his doors; and everything she could think of to say only rooted him more firmly in his prejudices.
“Odious, insolent, ill-natured, pigheaded, spiteful, out-of-date old wretch!” exclaimed Mouse, as she read a note from him, and cast it across the room to her husband.
“The Pater? Oh, I say, choose your language,” said Cocky.
In his shrivelled heart, dry and sere as a last year’s leaf, if there was one remnant of regard and respect left, it was for his father. Besides, like most men, he always disagreed with anything his wife said. He read the note in a glance.
“Won’t swallow man from Dakota,” he said, under a smile. “Well, I wouldn’t have swallowed him if he hadn’t greased my throat so well.”
“Hush!”
“Who’s to hear? Dogs don’t blab, bless ’em!”
“I dislike to hear such things said, even in jest.”
Cocky chuckled.
“What do you bother the pater about him for? I’ve swallowed him; society’s swallowed him; all the royal folks have swallowed him. Why can’t you leave the pater in peace?”