He felt convinced that the paragon's snores were merely a blind to deceive a doting husband. The demon in human form was doubtless wide awake, perhaps conceiving some diabolical plot beneath this theatrical travesty of the gentle music of slumber.
"He sleeps very loud," said Mr. Rodney—"for decent society."
"He does sleep very loud," said the Duke. Then, lowering his voice, he hummed into Mr. Rodney's ear: "Does anything occur to you, Rodney?"
"I beg your pardon, Duke?" said Mr. Rodney.
"I say, does anything occur to you with regard to it?"
"With regard to what?"
"This damned uproarious sleep?"
"No," said Mr. Rodney. "Nothing at all. Why, what should occur to me?"
"Oh, Lord! I don't know," said the Duke, with keen irritation and contempt. "I don't know."
He released the owner of Mitching Dean, and, looking round, exclaimed: "Why, where the deuce is Van Adam?"