Mr. Stanham looked a trifle blank.
"I didn't know the ministry was formed."
"It's formed, but it's not announced; Triggs is to be the Chancellor."
"And what sort of gentleman may Triggs be when he's at home?"
"Sir Tristram? Well!" The Duke was walking up and down the room. He appeared to be reflecting. "He's rather a queer card, Triggs is. He's been a bit of a wildish character in his time--and they do say that his time's not long gone. He has a temper of his own--a nasty one." Pausing, the Duke fixedly regarded Mr. Stanham. "I should say that when Triggs learns what you have done he will clap you into gaol, and keep you there, at any rate until Miss Cullen ceases to be a ward of the court."
Mr. Stanham's countenance wore a look of dire consternation.
"No! She's to be a ward until she's twenty-five, and she's not yet twenty-two."
"Then, in that case, I should say that, at the very least, you are in for three good years of prison. My advice to you is----"
The Duke's advice remained unuttered. Just at that moment the door was opened. A servant ushered in a new-comer.
"Sir Tristram Triggs."