The accused delivered the answer in a tone of calm and wondering contempt. Obviously he was incredulous that such ignorance as his interrogator displayed could exist in a Christian country.
“Two Sir Montrose Veyzes? Of the same name and title?” Maud was glaring, now.
“Of cawse! The famous Veyze twins. Though we’re not rahlly twins any more, you understand.”
Under the calm and steady beam of the monocle, Maud weakened. “What are you famous for?” she asked, more amenably.
“Because there are two of us to the divided title. Bally hard for an American to understand, I’m afraid. It begins back in the early days of the title, quite before Columbus landed the Puritans at Bunker Hill, you know.”
“Columbus wasn’t a Puritan, dear,” corrected Darcy.
“No? Nevah heard anything against the man’s morals, that I can recall.”
“Never mind Columbus,” said the interested Helen. “Do tell us about the Veyzes.”
“Right-o! Two brothers were born—twins, d’ you see? There was some natural confusion. Which was the heir—born first, you know? Nobody could tell. The King was stayin’ at Veyze Holdings then for the shootin’; very famous shootin’. The family referred it to him. Would he play the part of Solomon and decide? His Majesty graciously acceded to the request. He decreed that the title should thenceforth be a dual one. It’s remained so ever since. We don’t produce twins any more, but the two eldest sons of the line inherit title and property jointly, and each carries two swords at court. There’s Sir Montrose and Sir Montrose II. I’m II.”
