"Who is the gentleman you expect to have the pleasure of meeting there?"
"How should I know?" The duke took a letter from his pocket—it was the letter which had just arrived. "The fellow is to wear a white top hat, and a gardenia in his buttonhole."
"What is it you have there?"
"It's the letter which brought the news—look for yourself and see; but, for God's sake, make haste!" His grace glanced at his watch. "It's already twenty after five."
"And do you mean to say that on the strength of a letter such as this you are going to hand over five hundred pounds to—"
The duke cut Mr. Dacre short.
"What are five hundred pounds to me? Besides, you don't know all. There is another letter. And I have heard from Mabel. But I will tell you all about it later. If you are coming, come!"
Folding up the letter, Mr. Dacre returned it to the duke.
"As you say, what are five hundred pounds to you? It's as well they are not as much to you as they are to me, or I'm afraid—"
"Hang it, Ivor, do prose afterwards!"