"Quorn?" cried the duke in a voice of puzzled exasperation, "Quorn again in that quarter. I get tired of this Quorn here, Quorn there."
"This is Lord Quorn," Lalage declared with an exultation which, considering the position her champion occupied at the moment, was scarcely justified.
"So? Are you sure?" the duke demanded searchingly.
"Sure? I knew him in Australia. I have come over to marry him," was the convincing answer.
"So?" The fiery little Castilian turned to Quorn. "You marry this lady, eh?"
"No," he returned, ungallantly. "I'm hanged if I do."
"Carnaby!" cried his sister in a ringing voice. "You hear that?"
"Yes," said Carnaby impotently from the floor.
"Let the poor fellow alone," recommended Quorn. "He's a thing of the past."
But his crow was cut short by the duke. "So, your grace thinks to marry Miss Buffkin?" No answer. "In spite of your engagement to this handsome lady?" The duke's wry face was lost in a grin. "May I request once again the honour of a few words with your grace in private?"