"We will give you a lift—without prejudice," replied Lady Ormstork, with the laudable object of drawing him off from further exercise of his powers of intimidation upon whichever might be the prospective bridegroom.
The duke bowed himself into a right angle. "Your illustrious kindness transcends my poor deserts. I am overwhelmed by this distinguished mark of your favour." He straightened himself, pivoted on his heels till he faced the three men, and bowed to them, this time stopping at an angle of 45°. "Your excellencies, I shall further do myself the supreme honour of returning to pursue my enquiry as to which of you I may have the inestimable privilege of addressing without fear of contradiction as milord Quorn."
He pivoted again till he faced the door, took a phenomenally long stride to it, recovered himself, flung it open, and with a ceremonial which had quite a mediæval flavour about it, and, indeed, had been probably handed down from one generation of the amiable house of Salolja to another, conducted the ladies to the hall, leaving the three men inert with gloomy anticipations.
CHAPTER XXXVII
So paralysed were they that it was not till the crunching of the carriage wheels on the gravel roused them from their lugubrious stupor that they found tongue to discuss their situation.
"Nice let-in for my money and trouble," said Gage writhing in the Nessus shirt of that fatal peerage.
"At any rate you can't blame me for this pleasing little episode," returned Peckover dispiritedly.
"I like your swearing you are not the rightful Quorn," said Gage huffily.
"I'm not, whoever else may be," maintained his late confederate with a glance at the real man, who met it by an irresponsive glare.