"You're a pair of frauds," cried Quorn.
"Naturally, if you're the rightful peer," was the bland reply. "But we don't know it, nor anybody else."
"Don't they?"
"Except yourself, I was going to say, and a lady and gentleman who have come all the way from Australia to stick to it—and you."
The hit told. Quorn's manner visibly weakened.
"What—you've had the nuisances up here—what is their infernal game?" he asked, darkly apprehensive.
"Simple enough," replied Peckover, beginning to feel the courage he had hitherto simulated. "The fair Lalage's game is to be Lady Quorn, or to know the reason why. And she has brought over dear old Carnaby as an extra note of interrogation."
"Oh! What persevering devils they are," Quorn observed uneasily. "And what do they say to your friend who calls himself Lord Quorn?"
"Say?" Peckover's native smartness was quick to turn the situation to advantage. "Why, their idea is that one Lord Quorn's as good as another and failing one the other will do nicely."
Quorn gave a long whistle. "Why, you don't mean to say that Lal Leo is going for your friend?"