"THEY ENCOUNTERED EACH OTHER ON THE DOORSTEP."
"Nice way in which to have to greet your own wife," he told himself, having reached the comparatively safe solitude of his own apartment.
Then the Duke got him into his own particular smoking-room. The Duke was in an armchair. Mr. Stanham stood before the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. The talk wandered from Dan to Beersheba. Then, a good deal à propos des bottes, the Duke dropped what he evidently intended to be taken as a hint.
"If you take my advice, young man, you'll keep clear of Frances Cullen. She's here."
Mr. Stanham winced.
"Is she? Yes. I know. I met her on the steps."
"Did you!" The Duke eyed him. He, not improbably, had observed the wince. "Warnings are issued all along that coast. Steer clear."
"What do you think they'd do to a man if he were to marry her?"
"Do to him! Tommy! I hope you're not meditating such a crime. She's not an ordinary ward of the court, any more than she's an ordinary millionaire."
"So I suppose."