# The Seen and the Unseen/The Duke

XII.
THE DUKE
A FICTION OF THE FUTURE
I.
MRS. PAYNTER buttonholed a porter.
"Can you tell me in which carriage the Earl of Datchet is travelling?"
"Who, mum?"
"The Earl of Datchet; or can you point him out to me?"
"No, mum, I can't. I don't know no such gentleman. By your leave, mum!"
Without her leave the porter went off with his load of luggage. The lady turned to her daughter.
"How very uncivil the servants are upon this line!" The young lady said nothing. She simply regarded her mother with an expression of placid scorn. "I wonder if this guard can tell me." A guard came hurrying along the platform. The lady laid hands of violence on him. "Guard, can you tell me which is the Earl of Datchet?"
"The Earl of Datchet, madam? Is he travelling by this train?"
​"I saw in Fashion that the Earl of Datchet intended to travel by this morning's tidal train to Paris. Isn't this the tidal train?"
"This is the tidal train, but I don't know anything about the Earl of Datchet. Are you goings by this train, madam?"
"Of course I am. But, guard" — the lady's hand stole towards her purse — "I particularly wished to travel in the same compartment as his lordship."
"I am afraid, madam, that I really don't know anything about his lordship, and if you're going you'd better get in — they're starting." The guard opened a carriage door. "Is this your luggage?" He signalled to a porter. "Look alive, attend to this luggage."
"My dear mother," observed Miss Paynter, when the heap of wraps had been bundled in, "are you coming?"
"It's most annoying——" began the lady.
The guard cut her short.
"Now, madam, if you please!"
Almost before Mrs. Paynter knew it she was settling herself in the comer of the carriage opposite her daughter. Before she had settled herself the train was off, and before the train was fairly under way she was favouring Miss Paynter with some remarks of a personal nature.
"Really, Edith, you are the most trying person I ever encountered. You know perfectly well that if I hadn't seen it in the paper I should never have dreamt of crossing to-day, and especially by this particular train, and yet you won't give me the slightest help or assistance of any kind. And now ​my whole labour's thrown away, and my whole purpose spoiled!"
"My dear mother, what does it matter?"
The young lady not only spoke with her lips, but also with her eyes. With her organs of vision she drew her mother's attention to the fact that they were not alone in the carriage. The elder lady grasped her daughter's meaning. But as she glanced at the stranger at the other end, she scarcely took that advantage of the hint which she was intended to take.
"And now, although you know how much I like to have a carriage to myself, and how much I object to travelling with strangers, you have allowed that insolent man—and I am thankful to think that he lost the five shillings which I quite intended to give him—to put us just where it pleased him. It's just like you!"
To this observation Miss Paynter answered nothing. She looked at her mother, and out of the comers of her eyes she peeped at the stranger. As she peeped she smiled; it was but the faintest shadow of a smile, but it was certainly a smile. The stranger was a solid-looking young man, short and broad. He had rather a vacuous expression of countenance. His cheeks, which were innocent of whiskers, were fat and red. Altogether he did not seem to be the sort of person who was likely to be hurt by a trifle, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps as well. None the less, he appeared curiously disconcerted by a remark which Mrs. Paynter all at once addressed to him.
"Excuse me, sir, but are you acquainted with the Earl of Datchet?"
​"Beg pardon."
The young gentleman had his feet on the seat in front of him, his hat tilted over his eyes, and his hands in his trousers pockets, and was probably anathematising himself for not having gone at once into a smoking carriage instead of endeavouring to secure a whole compartment to himself for the solitary enjoyment, in defiance of the company's by-laws, of "a fragrant weed." But on Mrs. Paynter's addressing to him her inquiry his feet went off the cushions, his hat from over his eyes, and his hands from out of his pockets with a celerity which was comical.
"I merely inquired if you were acquainted, by sight, with the person of tiie Earl of Datchet."
When this question was put to him the stranger's demeanour was really singular. He half rose from his seat, and stared.
"Well, I'm blowed ! That's good."
"Sir!"
Mrs. Paynter regarded him through her glasses with supercilious surprise. The stranger transferred his glance from the mother to the daughter; as it fell upon the daughter he started again.
"Beg pardon. I didn't notice. Did you ask me if I knew Datchet?"
Miss Paynter smiled; she seemed tickled by the stranger's manner.
"It was not I; it was my mother."
Mrs. Paynter did not smile.
"Pray, Edith, do not let us trouble this person further. I merely made a commonplace inquiry. I perceive that I made a mistake."
itized by VjOOQIC ​If the lady's manner was meant to be crushing—and it seemed that it was—the stranger remained uncrushed. He only stared the more.
"How?"
Mrs. Paynter leaned back in her corner.
"My dear Edith, do not let us trouble this person further."
"But I do know Datchet"
Up went the lady's glasses again. But if she meant to stare the stranger out of countenance, she simply scored another failure.
"When you say 'Datchet,' are you referring to the Earl of Datchet?"
"Dicky Datchet; yes, that's him."
"'Dicky Datchet'! Really, you appear to be upon intimate terms with his lordship. Do you happen to be aware if his lordship is travelling by this train?"
"I'll bet a guinea he isn't"
"Indeed! I understood, upon good authority, that he intended to do so."
"Not he. Dicky's at Bpulogne."
"At Boulogne, is he? You seem to have a close acquaintance with his lordship's movements. May I ask if you are a friend of his?"
Mrs. Paynter was quite incapable of anything more cutting in the way of sarcastic suggestion than her manner conveyed; but, in spite of it, the stranger seemed beautifully unconscious that there was any intention of the kind.
"Well, it depends on what you call a friend."
"It depends, as you say, very much indeed upon what you call a friend."
​"Of course, we were kids together."
"'Kids 'together!'"
"Youngsters, don't you know. I'm the Duke of Staines."
"The—— You are the——"
For the life of her, Mrs. Paynter could have got no further. The stranger supplied the rest of the sentence.
"The Duke of Staines." He turned to Miss Paynter. "Are you going to Boulogne?"
"We were thinking of going to Paris."
"Oh!" His countenance fell. "I wish you were going to Boulogne."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm going to Boulogne."
Miss Paynter smiled outright at this; she had more presence of mind than her mother. "The inference conveyed is very flattering."
"Is it? I don't know."
He stared at her stolidly. Mrs. Paynter found her breath again.
"Did I understand you to say—— Really, I had no idea—you must excuse me. Did I understand you to say that you were—the Duke of Staines?"
"That's me."
Mrs. Paynter regarded him askance. She could not make up her mind if he was or was not making fun of her. She was not a wise woman. She had never before come into personal contact with any member of the British aristocracy. Could such an extremely vulgar individual as this one appeared to be really be a duke? She endeavoured, to the best of her small ability, to make sure of her ground.
​"You don't happen to have a card about you?"
"I always carry a pack when Tm going anywhere, but—I don't care to play."
"You don't care to what?"
"To play—unless you feel uncommonly keen."
Miss Paynter laughed.
"You misunderstand my mother. She is not asking you for a pack of cards—she doesn't, as a rule, play cards in a train—but for a visiting-card."
"Oh! I see. Exchange pasteboards and that sort of thing. Daresay I've got one somewhere."
From a pocket-book which seemed to contain a very miscellaneous collection he produced, after long searching, a visiting-card. It was a good deal soiled and the comers were dog's-eared. He commented on its defects as he handed it to Mrs. Paynter.
"There's a few figures on the back, but perhaps you'll excuse 'em. Fact is, I never seem to want a card. I've never got one, anyway."
Mrs. Paynter could not have taken that disreputable square of pasteboard with a more dainty grace had it been the most delicate and costly thing in the world. When she saw that great name imprinted on its front—it was just legible, no more—she swelled, positively and visibly increased in stature. With infinite condescension from her silver card-case she took a card, stiff as buckram, and even dazzlingly white.
"Allow me to have the honour to present your Grace with my card."
"His Grace" looked at the card.
"Paynter? Any relation to Billy Paynter?"
"What Paynter is that?"
​"Putney slogger—bantam weight—fighting man, you know."
Mrs. Pajmter drew herself up still more.
"My father was rector of Bodgington, in Essex. He married a Miss Abbeyfield, my dear mother, and she was a grand-niece of the late Lord Gawler. My father was related, on his mother's side, to Admiral Piper—'Percussion' Piper he was called, as of course you know, because he was so explosive; and on his father's side, as I have often heard him say——"
The lady was well launched. "His Grace," however, remorselessly cut her short "Oh!" he said He turned to the young lady. "Miss—Miss Paynter?"
"I certainly am my mother*s daughter."
Mrs. Paynter did not seem to be at all offended at having been recently interrupted. She came sailing gaily in.
"Edith—always Edith to her friends."
"Awfully jolly name, Edit ; awfully jolly."
Edith drew herself a little closer into her corner.
"It is very good of you to say so."
If Miss Paynter's manner, all at once, was a little glacial, Mrs. Paynter's continued to be beautifully beaming.
"I cannot tell you how delighted I am at so unexpectedly encountering your Grace, and under such agreeable circumstances. It is such an honour, and such a pleasure. And you are going to Boulogne? Does your Grace purpose staying long at Boulogne?"
"Don't know. Awful bore, the whole thing. Fact is, I'm going to keep an eye on the old woman."
His Grace winked—distinctly; but the lady was puzzled
​"On whom?"
"My wife."
He winked again. The lady was taken aback; but she recovered.
"Of course. I ought not to have forgotten that your Grace is married. So absurd of me. How is the dear Duchess?"
"Eh? Who? Oh, Polly! She's going it, I hear."
"Polly is—the dear Duchess?"
"Was Polly Perkins, the Pearl of the Peris, you know; used to be all the go at the halls. Her great song, you know, was 'He tallowed his nose with a candle.' Ever hear it? She could sing it! She sings it sometimes now, but she's got so jolly uppish that sometimes she will and sometimes she won't"
Mrs. Paynter looked slightly startled, as well she might be. The Duke of Staines was a young gentleman who was well calculated to startle her. Elderly ladies, respectable elderly ladies, read about such things in the papers, and delight in them. But as they never actually encounter the principal actors in the "scandals," they have not a favourable opportunity of judging what sort of characters those principal actors must really be. To Mrs. Paynter the Duke of Staines was the Duke of Staines—with an accent on "the." That a "Polly," whose "great song" was "He tallowed his nose with a candle," could be the Duchess of Staines—she couldn't realise the thing at all. However, she was a lady whose mental processes, under certain conditions, and in a certain sense, travelled quickly.
"And is the dear Duchess"—she was still "the dear Duchess"—"at Boulogne?"
​"Yes— hang it! And Dicky Datchet's with her, too."
"Dicky Datchet! Do you mean the Earl of Datchet?"
"That's him."
"Dear me! How sad! I never thought that the Earl of Datchet was that kind of man."
"What kind of man?"
"I always thought that the Earl of Datchet was a nobleman of the strictest propriety—as one of our first nobility ought to be, for the sake of the public example. It is expected of him."
"What, Dicky Datchet! Well, I'm blowed; that's good!" His Grace stared at the lady as though she were some strange animal "I'll punch his head for him if he don't take care. I can fight if I can't do anything else. I'm not going to have him messing about with my wife, and I'll let him know it"
His Grace was most affable, and quite confidential He told them the most amazing stories about himself and the Duchess and the Earl of Datchet, and other persons of similar rank and refinement, connected with the "halls" and otherwise. He was a most astonishing young man. He shocked Miss Paynter into speechlessness. Mrs. Paynter would not for worlds have owned that she was shocked When they were on the boat she made to her daughter this—under the circumstances—singular remark: "Edith, it is quite evident that his Grace is greatly struck with you."
"That wretched little cad! Mother, how could you let him go on talking? If I had been a man I should have knocked him down."
​"There is no doubt that he is a character, as a Duke of Staines can well afford to be. Edith, when I heard that the Earl of Datchet was going to travel by that train I made up my mind that we would travel with him. I have more belief in the power of such beauty as yours than even you have. You have money, good birth; one never knows what may happen. Instead of an earl, chance has thrown a duke into your way. Edith, if you ever become the Duchess of Staines, my wildest dreams, at which you have so often laughed, will be more than realised."
"Aren't you forgetting that there happens to be a Duchess?"
"She is a person of the worst character, my dear. I remember the story now quite well—a most disreputable story. She entrapped him. This Earl of Datchet, who is plainly also a person of the loosest morals—I am deeply thankful that he wasn't in the train!—is evidently philandering about with her. Under such circumstances, of course——" The lady pursed her lips.
"Mother, for shame!"
"Edith, don't be a fool!"
"And you compare such a person as the Duke of Staines with Douglas?"
"Edith, haven't I forbidden you to mention that man's name?"
"Douglas is at least a gentleman."
"He is a penniless adventurer. Hush! here comes his Grace."
The Duke came. He addressed Miss Paynter.
"Have a liquor?"
"I beg your pardon?"
​"Have a liquor—just a moistener? Gin and seltzer's not bad swill if you've got a knack of getting a little bit turned over, though I should think on a day like this anyone could look a basin in the face. What do you think?"
The young lady did not know what to think This duke was such an extraordinary duke. The great middle class is aware that there are members of the British aristocracy who are deficient in brains; manners, morals, and even education. But, as a matter of fact, even in these democratic days individuals of that class seldom come into actual contact even with a baron, and when, by some wondrous accident, they stumble on a duke, they expect that duke to be a duke. If to all outward seeming he appears to be a cross between a billiard marker and a stable hand, they are apt to be surprised.
When they reached Boulogne, his Grace of Staines was so good as to offer the ladies the honour of his escort to their hotel. As, however, they were leaving the boat together someone stopped the peer.
"Hollo, Teddy! What are you doing here?"
The speaker was a gorgeously attired gentleman, who wore, as decorations, a single eyeglass and a pair of spotless "lavender kids." He was accompanied by a little lady, who was remarkable for an enormous quantity of golden hair, and a pair of large blue eyes which would have been filled with the light of innocence if their effect had not been marred by a superabundance of "complexion." His Grace of Staines surveyed this pair with a glance which was not a glance of affection.
"So it's you, is it? I ain't been long in finding you."
​"You might have been a bit longer, Teddy, if you'd dropped us a line to let us know that you were coming."
"—— your eyes!" The pillar of the British Constitution used language which was not exactly ducal. "You'd better mind your p's and q's, my lad, or I'll give you what for, and no mistake." The lady interposed. She took the eyeglassed gentleman by the arm.
"Come away, Dick, and for gracious sake don't let's have a row out here." The Duke seemed struck by the lady's words.
"Come away with him, is it? That's good. You'll come with me, my girl, or by——"
Mrs. Paynter and her daughter drove away before the conversation became too personal. They did without his Grace's escort, that great nobleman appearing to be "spoiling" for a fight upon the quay, all the passengers and all the loungers looking on.
"Mamma," observed Miss Paynter, as the vehicle began to rattle over the Boulogne cobbles, "I am not going to stay here. I am going straight to Paris."
"Nonsense!" The elder lady was slightly flushed. "Don't be absurd!" It was difficult to argue the question then and there.
"At any rate, mamma, you will please to understand that nothing will induce me to have any intercourse with that wretched man."
The mother said nothing—prudently.
"I don't believe that he is the Duke of Staines."
"As to that, nothing will be easier than to make inquiries. He would not be able to carry on that fraud long. Besides, I remember now quite well ​hearing that the present duke was an eccentric character."
"An eccentric character! You call that animal an eccentric character! Why, my dear mother, the man's a blackguard—an utter blackguard, neither more nor less."
The words were strong, but the mother deemed it wiser to let them go unchecked, lest, peradventure, they should be followed by even stronger.
Some hours later Mrs. Paynter paid a visit to Miss Paynter in the young lady's own apartment at the hotel
"Edith, there can be no doubt that he is the Duke of Staines."
"It would make no difference to me if he were ten thousand times the Duke of Staines."
"Don't talk nonsense, my love! The Duke of Staines is the Duke of Staines!"
"If that is the Duke of Staines, he certainly is—with a vengeance."
"His income is nearer three than two hundred thousand pounds; and when he came of age he received nearly two millions in ready money."
"Mamma!" The magnitude of the figures seemed momentarily to impress the maiden. "But you may be quite sure that the ready money is long since spent, and the income mortgaged up to the hilt."
"You are entirely mistaken. Major Bagshawe, who is staying at the hotel, knows all about him. There can be no doubt that the Duke's manners are—peculiar."
"Peculiar!"
"Well, aren't they peculiar? But it seems that his ​tastes are low rather than expensive. Major Bagshawe says that, financially, his position is even better now than when he came into his estate."
"Mamma, what are you driving at?"
"My dear, it is common talk that if he chose to apply for a divorce to-morrow, he would have ample grounds to go upon. If he married again—and he, of course, would marry"—Mrs. Paynter paused—"the Duchess of Staines would occupy, if she chose, one of the proudest positions in England—a position which even royalty would be glad to fill. She would have everything which the heart of a woman could desire. She would have the world at her feet"
II.
"You're awfully down upon a fellow. I ain't used to it, you know."
"No?"
It was after dinner. Miss Paynter and the Duke of Staines were alone together on the verandah of the Hôtel des Bains. The Duke was smoking. He puffed at his cigar. He wore an air of injury.
"No, I ain't, and so I tell you straight"
"I am sorry."
"Yes, a blooming lot of that, I make no doubt."
"Might I ask where you acquired that conversational style of which you are so fond? It isn't only that you are habitually addicted to the use of slang; it is such peculiar slang. It always reminds me of—shall I say a 'busman?"
​The Duke puffed in silence for a moment.
"Do you know that I've never stood from any girl in England the half nor yet the quarter, of what I've stood from you?"
"And do you know that I have never had to endure from any man in England, not to speak of any gentleman, one thousandth part of what I have had to endure from you. Singular, isn't it? And you're a duke!"
"Well, I'm blow'd! You arc a oner!"
"Am I, indeed? What is a oner?"
"Look here; what is it you want? I'll give you anything you like. I've got something in my pocket now."
From some mysterious inner pocket he took a flat leather case. He opened it It contained a necklace of diamonds.
"What do you think of that? Shiners, ain't they? I gave five thousand pounds for that little lot."
She took the case into her hands. Her countenance betrayed no symptoms of surprise.
"Did you? I have seen necklaces which seemed to me to be quite as good as this, which cost much less. I am afraid they overcharged you."
"Not they! I may be a fool about some things—I don't need you to tell me that !—but I'm all there when there's any money on. I'm not one to give one-and-twenty shillings for what's only worth a pound—not much, I ain't. Well, ain't you going to say even thank you?"
Closing the case, the lady returned it to the gentleman.
"Thank you—for the sight."
​"What do you mean ? It's for you; I got it on purpose for you—it's a little present"
"My dear young man—although you are a duke—pray don't be absurd. Do you see that light out at sea? I think it must be a steamer. I've been watching it for some seconds."
"What's the good of humbugging? Damn the steamer! You know very well I'm gone on you—fair gone! You know very well that the more you play off the more you drive me on. But I ain't going to stand it any longer, so I tell you straight."
She was quiet for some seconds. Then she said, very quietly, still looking across the sea—
"What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean. You know I love you."
"You—love me?" Then she turned to him. A smile played about her lips. "And the Duchess?"
"Oh, the Duchess! what has it to do with her?"
"Your ideas are original. Good-bye."
She turned right round. Passing through the open window, she entered the sitting-room. He followed her.
"Don't put me off like that—don't Upon my word, I don't believe you know who I am—I'm the Duke of Staines."
When he followed her she turned again and smiled.
"It's easy enough for you to laugh, but for all that I don't believe that you know what it means to be the Duke of Staines."
"Although you are, doesn't it strike you that it is just within the range of possibility that you are insulting me?"
​"That's all nonsense! It isn't as though I was some low cad"
"I see. You think that makes a difference?"
"Of course it does. Edith——"
He was interrupted by a tapping at the door. A waiter entered. He had a letter on a salver. Miss Paynter took it It was an English letter, addressed to her in a masculine hand, and marked " Immediate." As her glance fell upon the handwriting she flushed.
"Edith," resumed the Duke, when the waiter had disappeared. The lady cut him short.
"You continue to insult me!" The lady's manner all at once had changed. All traces of a smile had disappeared. Her eyes flashed fire. "Be so good as to let me pass, and this time do not follow me!"
"What is the good of all this humbug? What is your little game?"
"Let me pass!"
She moved forward. He put his arm about her waist But only for an instant. Almost as soon as he had put it there he took it away again. The young lady swept past him through the window and out on to the verandah.
Possibly one of the reasons which had induced his Grace of Staines to so speedily remove his too intrusive arm was the fact that Mrs. Paynter had entered the room. The lady came in very quietly. Miss Paynter's back had been turned to the door, so that, although the mother's entrance had been sufficiently obvious to the gentleman, it had been unnoticed by her daughter. When the younger lady had gone the elder lady and the Duke remained face to face.
​The ball of conversation was opened by the lady.
"Is it possible that your Grace was offering insult to my child?"
His Grace had his hands in his trousers pockets. He seemed huffed, and jerked his elbow towards the leather case which lay upon the table.
"I don't know what you call insult. I was offering her that."
"And pray what may that be?"
"It's a present I got for her. I didn't mean it for an insult It cost me a cool five thousand, I do know that"
"Five thousand? Pounds? Your Grace!" The lady took the case into her hands. She opened it "Diamonds! And you have given them to Edith! What prodigal generosity!"
"I don't know about given 'em, because she wouldn't take 'em."
"She wouldn't take them?"
"Jiggered if she would! She treated them as though they were bits of glass, and I was a barber's clerk."
The lady reflected.
"Possibly she misconstrued the motives which actuated you in offering her so costly a gift."
"I don't see how she could, because I told her I offered it because I loved her."
"Because you—loved her! Your Grace! I presume you mean in a platonic sense."
Outside the window was Miss Paynter. When she first left the room she had passed to the end of the verandah, the precious letter, marked "Immediate," held tightly in her hand. She opened it, and read ​it in the dim light out there. It was short, and pithy, and sweet:—
"My Darling,—I have been offered a berth worth eight hundred a year—such a stroke of luck! It isn't much, but there'll be more to follow; and it's enough for a start. I vote we make a match of it at once—you said you would. I'm coming over by Friday's boat; mind you meet it at the quay.—Douglas."
That was all the letter.
"Friday's boat? That's to-morrow. Douglas!"
There was a great tenderness in her voice as she emphasised the name. With the letter pressed against her bosom she strolled back along the balcony. The sound of voices reached her. She had approached the open window of her mother's private sitting-room. The Duke was speaking.
"I don't know about platonic sense; I ain't good at that kind of thing. I know I'm fair gone on her."
There was a pause. Then her mother spoke.
"I can only hope that I misunderstand your Grace."
"I don't know why you should. I tell you I love the girl"
"Your Grace! And the Duchess?"
"Oh, blow the Duchess! If it comes to that, I'll marry the girl."
"Does your Grace, then, propose to commit bigamy?"
"Bigamy? Not me! I'll get a divorce."
Another pause. Miss Paynter, without, could fancy her mother's smile of bland maternal love.
"Of course, if you were free, that would be another matter. And, if a little bird tells the truth, you should have no difficulty in obtaining your freedom."
​"Then a little bird just lies ! Polly's as deep as they make 'em; she's not to be caught with chaff; she knows what it means to be Duchess of Staines—trust her! She don't mean to get lost for nothing! Carry on to any amount she will; but just so far, and not a small bit farther. I've had detectives on her track for the last six months, watching her night and day, but they tell me it's no good up to now."
Still another pause. The young lady without could hear the Duke pacing up and down the room. "But I'll corner her at last; see if I don't Then I'll marry Edith—if she'll have me. Upon my word, I ain't so sure that she will—I never saw such a oner. She treats me as though I was a dirty bagman. I'll give her anything—anything! I'll make her the greatest lady in England! I'll settle on her twenty thousand pounds a year! Twenty thousand! I'll settle on her anything she likes!"
While the distinguished nobleman within gave free rein to his chivalrous sentiments, the young lady without pressed the precious letter closer to her bosom. Her mother spoke—^softly, almost purringly.
"You see, your Grace places me in rather a difficult position. Having declared your affection for my daughter, it is necessary that I should protect her by every means in my power. Would your Grace object to giving me some sort of memorandum which would embody, in some form, the sentiments which you have just now uttered, and which do you so much honour?"
"I mean business, I tell you straight Come along to my room, and I'll give you a written promise of marriage right off the reel, hanged if I won't!"
​Mrs. Paynter "went along" with him. Miss Paynter heard the door shut after them. As she heard it she knew that she stood within measurable distance of being one of the greatest women in England—a woman who, if she chose, might rule society. She knew, too, that, physically and intellectually, she was just the woman to play the part of social queen—that she would be a ruler who would have no rivals. She knew that she had but to stretch out her hand for all the gifts of all the gods to fall into her open palm; yet she only pressed that letter closer to her breast.
Several sitting-rooms opened out on to that verandah. The French windows of the room adjoining were thrown right back. As she stood there, thinking of all that grand future to which she possessed the "open sesame," she was conscious that into that adjoining room had come two persons, a man and a woman.
The man spoke. "Is everything ready?"
The woman answered, "Everything."
"The train leaves at ten minutes to two. We can catch the five minutes to nine in Paris, and we shall be in Nice by a few minutes past six on Saturday afternoon."
"Dicky, you will be true to me?"
"Isn't it rather late in the day to ask me such a question? Don't you know I will?"
"But swear you will!"
"I swear it for the hundredth time!"
"You will marry me afterwards?"
"I will, upon my honour."
The woman's voice was low and earnest, even ​painfully in earnest. The man's tone was light and flippant. The woman drew a long deep breath. Miss Paynter heard her, as she stood without, pressing the letter closer and closer to her breast.
"When I think of how I nearly jumped out of my skin for joy when I became the Duchess of Staines, it seems impossible that after all it should have come to this."
"Exchange is no robbery—you're going to be a countess for a change. Don't you think it sounds well enough—Countess of Datchet?"
"It's all very well for you to laugh, but you don't know what it means to me. You think what he thought. Because I was a music-hall singer—a serio-comic—the Pearl of the Peris—he thought that I was anybody's money. But I wasn't, and so he found—and so you'll find! Dicky, if you don't marry me directly you can, I'll murder you—I swear I will!"
"There's not time enough for tragedy, Polly. Put it off until we're in the train."
"Do you think those—those brutes will follow us?"
"If you mean the detectives, I take it for granted that one, if not two of them, will be our fellow-travellers to the sunny South. They will enjoy the trip at Teddy's expense."
There was silence. The woman was pacing to and fro. When she spoke again it was in tones of the intensest bitterness.
"If I were to tell you what I've stood from that man, you wouldn't wonder at what I'm doing now. He's treated me worse than a dog from the moment ​he married me, and I was such a fool that I thought that if I was once the Duchess of Staines everything would be all right He made no settlement on me, As for money, I haven't had it. He told me that if I sent any of my bills to him he'd thrash me within an inch of my life. And he'd do it too, especially if he had been drinking. He's never introduced me to a respectable woman. He had detectives to watch me——"
"I know, Polly. I've heard some of it before and I'll hear the rest when we're in the train."
"Look here, Dick Datchet, I've been an honest woman up till now, and although I'm goings to run away with you, I mean to be an honest woman still. You put it down in black and white, that you promise to marry me the very first moment you can."
"What would be the good of that? Such a promise wouldn't be valid. I can't promise to marry a woman who's married already. Besides, don't you love me enough to trust me? Come here, Polly."
Although she could not actually see that it was so, Miss Paynter knew that the Earl of Datchet had taken the Duchess of Staines into his arms.
"Don't you love me?"
"Yes." There was the sound of a kiss. "You know that I do."
"Then you may trust me to see you through it all." The woman drew another long deep breath, but she said nothing.
"Hadn't you better go and get ready?"
"No," said Miss Paynter, as she passed through the window. "I wouldn't if I were you."
The Earl of Datchet was leaning against the table. ​The Duchess's waist was encircled by his arm. They stared at the intruder in not unjustifiable surprise. Miss Paynter addressed herself to the Duchess.
"I wouldn't go and get ready if I were you."
"What do you mean?" the Duchess replied.
"Why, my dear child, because in real knowledge of this wicked world I believe you're nothing but a child; you're only biting off your nose to spite your face. You're jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. This gentleman has not the slightest real intention of marriage—have you?"
This frankly-put inquiry seemed somewhat to startle the Earl.
"Really, I—I have not the pleasure."
"Of knowing me? But I know you very well, both by sight and reputation. I assure you, my dear Duchess, that you would be a very foolish woman to trust yourself in the least degree to him."
The Earl of Datchet roused himself to the best of his ability.
"May I ask, Miss Paynter—I believe you are Miss Paynter—what business this is of yours?"
"It is the business of every honest woman—to use the Duchess's very proper phrase—to save other honest women from being ruined and tricked by gentlemen; don't you think it is?" There were voices without "Here is the Duke—just when he is wanted." That distinguished nobleman appeared outside the window. Mrs. Paynter was with him. "Your Grace, prepare to be shocked—to receive a crushing blow. You have been deceived—betrayed—by a friend. Your own friend proposed to elope with your wife by the train which leaves at ten ​minutes to two for Paris, only I appeared upon the scene in the very nick of time."
The Duke lumbered into the room.
"What the devil——" he began, then he stopped He glared at the Earl. The Earl beamed at him.
"Edith," said Mrs. Paynter, going to her daughter, who had her arm about the Duchess, "what is the meaning of your peculiar behaviour?"
"Come into the other room! Come, Duchess, into the other room."
When they were in the other room, Mrs. Paynter repeated her inquiry.
"Now, Edith, perhaps you will explain."
"I don't know that there is anything to explain, unless—Duchess, what do you think? I'm going to be married."
The mother gasped.
"You are going to be married, Edith! When?"
"Perhaps next week."
"To to whom?"
"To Douglas!"
PLYMOUTH
W. BRENDON AND SON, PRINTERS