“But I pursued her. My lackeys sought to stay her coach.”
“Naturally—so that you might make her your apologies, and approve a departure which in the circumstances you must have urged. Damme, Bucks! You have no invention, and you desire to deem yourself a dramatist.”
“You think she will believe me?” His grace was dubious.
“That will depend upon your acting, and you are reputed something of an actor. God knows you played the mountebank once to some purpose. Have you forgotten?”
“No, no. But will it serve, do you think?”
“As a beginning. But you must follow it up. You must reveal yourself in a new character. Hitherto she has known you, first by repute and to-night by experience, a rake. That in itself makes her wary of you. Let her behold you as a hero; say, as a rescuer of beauty in distress—herself in the distressful part. Deliver her from some deadly peril, and thereby earn her gratitude and her wonder at your prowess. Women love a hero. So be heroical, and who knows what good fortune may attend your heroism.”
“And the deadly peril?” quoth the Duke gloomily, almost suspecting that his friend was rallying him. “Where shall I find that?”
“If you wait to find it, you may have long to wait. You must, yourself, provide it. A little contriving, a little invention, will soon supply what you lack.”
“Can you propose anything? Can you be more than superiorly vague?”
“I hope so. With a little thought....”