"Oh," said the Duke, "that's one of Lite's patent automatic machines, full of sweets, chocolates, and horrors of that kind. Put in a penny, and out bursts a slab of butter-scotch or a stick of peppermint."
"Dear me!" said Lady Drake meditatively, and almost languishingly; "what an excellent idea!"
And she walked slowly upstairs, occasionally turning her virtuous-looking head to shoot an affectionate glance at the machine. Miss Bindler had already vanished. Of all the women—recognised as such—only Mrs. Verulam still lingered, gazing at the majestic form of her sleeping hero. She longed to see it clothed in armour, helmeted, with sword by its side and all the emblems of ancient chivalry and valour, resting like a Crusader, only alive and on a sofa instead of on a tomb. She breathed a gentle sigh, and suddenly became aware that Mr. Rodney was observing her with a white glare of scrutiny over the top of the World, the last number of which had arrived at the palace that afternoon. She blushed and vanished. Mr. Rodney ground his teeth, a proceeding which till that moment he had always regarded as the special prerogative of the lower classes. Chloe heard the grating sound. She was just resisting the urging of the Duke to "stay and have a smoke, and hear some damned good stories!"
"Can't to-night," she answered, with a successful effort at young-mannishness; "infernally tired!"
She forced a prodigious yawn and moved towards the staircase. Mr. Rodney meanwhile was desperately reading the paper. Just as Chloe had got her foot on the first stair, she heard him utter an exclamation of surprise.
"Van Adam!" he said.
"Yes."
"Here's another paragraph about you—oh no, your brother. Did you expect him?"
Chloe stopped dead.
"My brother?"