ong language as little as he loved a
scene--"let us trust to time and, a little, to your white-hatted and
gardenia-buttonholed friend's word of honor. You should have thought of
possible eventualities before you showed your confidence--really. Suppose,
instead of going mad, we first of all go home?"

A hansom stood waiting for a fare at the end of the Arcade. Mr. Dacre had
handed the duke into it before his grace had quite realized that the
vehicle was there.

"Tell the fellow to drive faster." That was what the duke said when the
cab had started.

"My dear Datchet, the man's already driving his geerage off its legs. If a
bobby catches sight of him he'll take his number."

A moment later, a murmur from the duke:

"I don't know if you're aware that the prince is coming to dinner?"

"I am perfectly aware of it."

"You take it uncommonly cool. How easy it is to bear our brother's
burdens! Ivor, if Mabel doesn't turn up I shall feel like murder."

"I sympathize with you, Datchet, with all my heart, though, I may observe,
parenthetically, that I very far from realize the situation even yet. Take
my advice. If the duchess does not show quite as soon as we both of us
desire, don't make a scene; just let me see what I can do."

Judging from the expression of his countenance, the duke was conscious of
no overwhelming desire to witness an exhibition of Mr. Dacre's prowess.

When the cab reached Datchet House his grace dashed up the steps three at
a time. The door flew open.

"Has the duchess returned?"

"Hereward!"

A voice floated downward from above. Some one came running down the
stairs. It was her Grace of Datchet.

"Mabel!"

She actually rushed into the duke's extended arms. And he kissed her, and
she kissed him--before the servants.

"So you're not quite dead?" she cried.

"I am almost," he said.

She drew herself a little away from him.

"Hereward, were you seriously hurt?"

"Do you suppose that I could have been otherwise than seriously hurt?"

"My darling! Was it a Pickford's van?"

The duke stared.

"A Pickford's van? I don't understand. But come in here. Come along, Ivor.
Mabel, you don't see Ivor."

"How do you do, Mr. Dacre?"

Then the trio withdrew into a little anteroom; it was really time. Even
then the pair conducted themselves as if Mr. Dacre had been nothing and no
one. The duke took the lady's two hands in his. He eyed her fondly.

"So you are uninjured, with the exception of