and when
he was away he preferred the untrammelled conversational delights of a
foreign green-room to the twaddle of the embassies or to the mingled
snobbery and philistinism produced by the modern fusion of the almighty
dollar and the _ancienne noblesse_.

And so he was in trouble just now, and his one idea was to submit to
everything the Countess might say, and then to go and "give it" to Mr.
Barker for producing so much complication. But Margaret had nothing more
to say about the party, and launched out into a discussion of the
voyage. She introduced a cautious "if" in most of her sentences. "_If_ I
go I would like to see Madeira," and "_if_ we join you, you must take
care of Miss Skeat, and give her the best cabin," etc. etc. The Duke
wisely abstained from pressing his cause, or asking why she qualified
her plans. At last he got away, after promising to do every conceivable
and inconceivable thing which she should now or at any future time
evolve from the depths of her inventive feminine consciousness.

"By the way, Duke," she called after him, as he went over the, lawn,
"may I take old Vladimir if I go?"

"If you go," he answered, moving back a step or two, "you may bring all
the Imperial Guards if you choose, and I will provide transports for
those that the yacht won't hold."

"Thanks; that is all," she said laughing, and the stalwart peer vanished
through the house. The moment he was gone Margaret dropped her work and
lay back in her long chair to think. The heavy lids half closed over
her dark eyes, and the fingers of her right hand slowly turned round and
round the ring she wore upon her left. Miss Skeat was upstairs reading
Lord Byron's _Corsair_ in anticipation of the voyage. Margaret did not
know this, or the thought of the angular and well-bred Scotchwoman
bounding over the glad waters of the dark blue sea would have made her
smile. As it was, she looked serious.

"I am sorry," she thought to herself. "It was nice of him to say he
would not go."

Meanwhile the strong-legged nobleman footed it merrily towards Barker's
hotel. It was a good two miles, and the Duke's ruddy face shone again
under the August sun. But the race characteristic was strong in him, and
he liked to make himself unnecessarily hot; moreover he was really fond
of Barker, and now he was going to pitch into him, as he said to
himself, so it was indispensable to keep the steam up. He found his
friend as usual the picture of dried-up co