The Duchess moved to her writing-table and sat down. She chose paper and a pen, and dashed off these few lines:
“900, Berkeley Square, W.
“Dear Mr. Moss Rubelius,
“The Duke and myself have asked a few friends to join us at Rantorlie on April 1, for the salmon-fishing, and we should be so pleased if you would come.
“Sincerely yours,
“Ethelwyne Rantorlie.”
“The first letter I ever had, dated from Berkeley Square,” commented Mr. Rubelius, as, holding the letter very firmly down upon the blotter with her slim and white, but very strong hands, the Duchess signed to him with her chin to read, “that was anything in the nature of a genial invitation.”
He allowed the Duchess to take the three letters previously referred to from his right hand, as he dexterously twitched the invitation from the blotter with his left finger and thumb. “This, your Grace, will be as good as half a dozen more to me,” he observed, “when I show it about and get a par. into the papers.”
“Horrible!” cried the Duchess, shuddering. “You would not do that!”
Mr. Rubelius favored her with a knowing smile as he produced his shiny hat, his gloves, and a malacca cane, gold-handled, from some remote corner in which he had concealed them.