Mr. Bush shuffled rather uneasily.
"What if there isn't?" he growled.
"I beg your pardon."
"I says, What if there isn't nobody about?"
"Oh, nothing—nothing! I was only thinking what games might be carried on in a big house like this, half empty, at night, without anybody being aware of them."
Mr. Bush goggled his large auburn eyes at the Duke in a manner suggestive of apprehension partially masked by bumpkin impudence.
"Was you?" he replied, in his usual nervous English.
"Midnight revels, eh? What? what? That big hall's the place for them. Don't you think so?"
The paragon began to sulk, as was his custom when alarmed or bemuddled. He did not yet grasp the fact that the Duke was hinting at the Lady Drake episode, but he dimly felt that something was going on which he did not understand. So he relaxed his body, wrapped his left hand in his beard, and began to assume the appearance of a potman preparing for heavy slumber. But the Duke did not intend to be baffled by sleep. So he dug the paragon very sharply in the ribs with assumed geniality, and remarked: "You're a dog!"
"Give over! I ain't a dog!" mumbled the paragon slightly reassured.