"Triggs, this is the deuce of a nice state of things!"
The latest ornament of the woolsack was seated in the privacy of his own apartment prior to retiring to rest. But the cares of his position had followed him there. He was working his way through a mass of papers when his host appeared at the door.
"To what state of things does your Grace refer?"
The Duke looked round as if to make sure that they had the room to themselves. He seemed to be in a state of considerable agitation; indeed, the abruptness of his entry had in itself suggested agitation.
"Of--of course you know that I--I'm a magistrate."
"Certainly I know it."
Something in the other's tone seemed to have a soothing influence upon the Duke, possibly because it roused the spirit of mischief that was in him. He sat in an arm-chair. Crossing his arms upon his chest, stretching out his long legs in front of him, he regarded the toes of his evening shoes.
"Triggs, I have had an application made to me for a warrant for your arrest."
The Chancellor went a peony hue, as we have seen him do before.
"Your Grace is joking."