"Not a word," said Cheyne, stepping into the wareroom.
"Heard anything of the Duke of Shropshire since?"
"No, no. Nothing particular. Except that the Duke of Dorsetshire, in a note I got from him a day or two ago, says his grace is awfully cut up by the way these rascally Radicals are behaving."
"If I were at the head of affairs now, I'd pass a law treating all Radicals as working-men out of situations, and I'd clap every man Jack of them into jail. That's what I'd do."
"You'd never get a bill like that through the Commons, although you might through the Lords."
"Ah, I suppose not; I suppose not, Cheyne. We live in a degenerate age. But you, if you were in the House, would you vote for such a measure?"
"I am afraid it is extreme," said Cheyne, with a good-humoured smile.
"But you, you ought to be dead against Radicals and demagogues. Your name alone--why, sir, your name alone shows you come of a great stock, the great house of Shropshire. (By-the-way, we weren't long putting that brougham right for his grace. There it is, you see; and a pretty job too.) But, as I was saying, you must be a member of that family. Why, look at how few there are of the name."
"No, no. I assure you, most sincerely, I am in no way connected with any great house. The name is common enough in England--common enough. Well, I must be off to work. I have a whole lot of stuff to get away by to-night's mail for the morning."
With these words Cheyne walked out of the wareroom and got to the hall-door, and mounted the stairs.