"A successor must soon be appointed, and the Deemster is always a Manxman; he must know the language of the common people."
Thorkell's face wore a bewildered expression. The lady's manner was very suave.
"The appointment is the gift of the Lord of the island, and the Duchess is asked to suggest a name."
Thorkell's face lightened. He had regained all his composure.
"The Duchess has heard a good account of you, Mr. Mylrea. She is told that by your great industry and—wisdom—you have raised yourself in life—become rich, in fact."
The lady's voice dropped to a tone of most insinuating suavity. Thorkell stammered some commonplace.
"Hush, Mr. Mylrea, you shall not depreciate yourself. The Duchess has heard that you are a man of enterprise—one who does not begrudge the penny that makes the pound."
Thorkell saw it all. He was to be made Deemster, but he was to buy his appointment. The Duchess had lost money of late, and the swashbuckler court she kept had lately seen some abridgment of its gaieties.
"To be brief, Mr. Mylrea, the Duchess has half an intention of suggesting your name for the post, but before doing so she wished me to see in what way your feelings lie with regard to it."
Thorkell's little eyes twinkled, and his lips took an upward curve. He placed one hand over his breast and bent his head.