oger W. Blake," read Indiman, aloud. "An honest-enough-sounding name.
Is the gentleman in evening dress, Bolder?"

"No, sir; I don't think so, sir."

"Hym! That is unfortunate. Still, if Madame la Duchesse will permit,
and you, Thorp, have no objection--Good! Ask Mr. Blake to do me the
favor of joining us at dinner."

A few minutes later Mr. Roger Blake appeared at the door of the
dining-room. He was a young man with a profusion of fair hair and a
good deal of color, the latter heightened considerably by the somewhat
embarrassing circumstances attending his introduction. But Indiman
relieved the situation immediately, going forward and greeting the new
guest with unaffected cordiality.

"Mr. Blake, is it? You are very heartily welcome, I assure you. Let
Bolder take your hat and stick; indeed, I insist upon it. Allow me now
to present you: Her Grace the Duchess of Lackshire, more generally
known as Lely's 'Red Duchess'--Mr. Roger W. Blake. My friend, Mr.
Thorp--Mr. Blake."

Evidently the young man was not overclear in his own mind as to how it
had all happened, but there he was, sitting bolt upright in the vacant
chair and drinking two glasses of wine in rapid succession to cover his
confusion. A comedy, apparently, but to what purpose? Mr. Blake blushed
painfully, and made no reply to the polite commonplaces that I
ventured; Indiman smiled benevolently upon both of us, and in the most
natural possible manner led the conversation to the subject of
portrait-painting. There was his text before him--the famous "Red
Duchess"--and he talked well. I found myself listening with absorbed
attention, and even the shy Mr. Blake became oblivious of the keener
agonies of self-consciousness. So we went on until the game course had
been removed.

Our host rose to his feet, champagne glass in hand. "Gentlemen," he
said, and we followed his example, Blake managing to upset a decanter
of sherry in the process, "in life and in art--the fairest of her sex.
I give you, gentlemen, 'La Duchesse Rouge.'"

The toast was drunk with becoming decorum. I was about to resume my
seat when I saw that Mr. Blake had screwed himself up to a desperate
decision, and that the climax of the drama was at hand. He was quite
pale, and he stuttered a little as he spoke.

"Very sorry, I--I'm sure," he blurted out, "but you are Mr. In-Indiman?"

"I am, and not in the least sorry for it. Go on."

"It is my d-duty, sir, to place you under arrest for compl