The speaker looked a gentleman. He sounded like one, too. Costume, appearance, manner were beyond reproach--even beyond the criticism of two such keen critics as were these. The glorious attire of a London dandy was surmounted with a beautiful white top-hat. In his button-hole was a magnificent gardenia.
In age the stranger was scarcely more than a boy, and a sunny-faced, handsome boy at that. His cheeks were hairless, his eyes were blue. His smile was not only innocent, it was bland. Never was there a more conspicuous illustration of that repose which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.
The Duke looked at him, and glowered. Mr. Dacre looked at him, and smiled.
"Who are you?" asked the Duke.
"Ah--that is the question!" The newcomer's refined and musical voice breathed the very soul of affability. "I am an individual who is so unfortunate as to be in want of five hundred pounds."
"Are you the scoundrel who sent me that infamous letter?"
That charming stranger never turned a hair!
"I am the scoundrel mentioned in that infamous letter who wants to accost you at the Piccadilly end of the Burlington Arcade before half-past five--as witness my white hat and my gardenia."
"Where's my wife?"
The stranger gently swung his stick in front of him with his two hands. He regarded the Duke as a merry-hearted son might regard his father. The thing was beautiful!