"It is no laughing matter—for somebody," hissed the duke darkly.
Lady Ormstork's burst ended with an abruptness which suggested a doubt as to its genuineness. "It is really so diverting," she said, "that I am forgetting to introduce Mr. Buffkin, dear Ulrica's father, to Lord Quorn."
The inference to be drawn from Mr. Buffkin's demeanour was that he was not in the habit of being suddenly presented to peers of the realm. Lord Quorn, however, relieved his embarrassment by seizing his hand with a cordial grip. "Glad you've come down," he remarked, with his eyes on Mr. Buffkin's daughter.
"Pleased to meet your lordship," responded Mr. Buffkin.
Lady Ormstork raised her eye-glasses in diplomatic caution. "You don't mean to say you are Lord Quorn, after all?" she asked with a hedging smile.
"I'm nobody else," was the confident reply.
"He's Lord Quorn right enough," corroborated Peckover, with a chastened confession of a truth which could no longer be kept in the well.
"How singular," murmured Lady Ormstork, only half convinced and wondering how, if it turned out to be true, she would stand.
A professional-looking elderly man with a brief bag in his hand who had been regarding the group with some attention now came forward.
"Lord Quorn?" he said, addressing the peer.