Chapter Eighteen.
Miss Jill Oliphant At Home.
When His Grace, who had been a good deal puzzled by his abrupt, under-stamped invitation, stepped, head in air, into the drawing-room, he was somewhat taken aback to discover neither the captain nor his charming elder daughter, but instead, to be greeted by a little girl, nervously put forward by a small boy, and saying—
“Oh, duke, do you mind coming? I hope you’ll enjoy the party so much. There’ll be some dancing presently, and supper as soon as all the others come.”
“You’re the first,” said Tom. “Never mind, the others won’t be long. Like to read the newspaper, or take a turn round?”
Mentally he was calculating how he should manage to squeeze in the duke’s two daughters, who hadn’t been invited, at his hospitable board.
The duke smiled affably.
“We are rather early, but Miss Rosalind will excuse—”