“By which you mean that my purpose baffles you. That is an admission of dullness. You recall the little comedy we played a month ago for the benefit of Miss Farquharson?”
“I have occasion to. My bones are still sore from the cudgelling I got. It was a very realistic piece of acting, on the part of your grace’s cursed French grooms.”
“The lady didn’t think so. At least, it did not convince her. We must do better this time.”
“Yes, your grace.” There was the least dubiety in the rascal’s tone.
“We’ll introduce a more serious note into the comedy. We’ll carry the lady off. That is the purpose for which I require this house.”
“Carry her off?” said Bates, his face grown suddenly very serious.
“That is what I require of you, my good Bates.”
“Of me?” Bates gasped. His face lengthened, and his wolfish mouth fell open. “Of me, your grace?” He made it plain that the prospect scared him.
“To be sure. What’s to gape at?”
“But, your grace. This ... this is ... very serious.”