“The Duke must hate it,” Greetland suggested sympathetically.
“Naturally. He is most indignant about the whole business. And the police-court ordeal, he says, is so unconstitutional in his case. How can men in Lancashire’s position expect to be looked up to, and to keep up their dignity, if they are liable to be placed in these ridiculous positions and made a laughing-stock for the mob?”
“Just so,” Lady Rotherfield agreed, in a tone of compassionate indignation. “That is what I always maintain. If Dukes and so forth are to have their weaknesses exposed and to be exhibited as no different from ordinary humanity, what becomes of their prestige and influence? They ought certainly to be exempt from these public exposures.”
This was going somewhat farther towards the truth than the Duchess had intended. She looked rather black, while Greetland’s face was a study of amusement struggling with the professional decorum due towards the Peerage.
“The Duke,” said her Grace tartly, “talks of bringing the question before the House of Lords.”
“Don’t you think, Duchess,” suggested Lady Rotherfield sweetly, “that it would be wiser to let it drop? You are not likely to have another affair of the sort here, one would hope, and if it is debated, that terrible farceur, Evesham, is sure to make fun of it and, incidentally, of the dear Duke.”
The Duchess’s face lowered darker than ever. She was very tenacious of her monopoly of gibing at her consort’s stupidity. Greetland, who had plenty of tact, natural and acquired, was about to intervene with a change of subject, when Aubrey Playford, who had just come in, joined them with a suggestion in his manner of something important to tell.
“Have you heard the latest news, Duchess?” he asked quickly, as he touched her hand.
“No; what is it?” the Duchess enquired, in some trepidation as she noticed the little malicious gleam of pleasure in his eyes.
“Anything to do with the case?” Greetland asked casually. It was natural for him to hate people who got before him with news.