ted by some accident, the Duke rose and threaded his way among the
crowding passengers, as they got their traps together and moved about
the great saloons. He pursued every tall man he saw, till he could catch
a glimpse of his face. At last he met a towering figure in a darkened
passage way.

"My dear Claudius!" he cried, holding out his hand. But the stranger
only paused, muttered something about a "mistake" and passed on. The
excitement grew on the Duke, as it became certain that Claudius was not
on board, and never in the whole of his very high and mighty life had he
been in such a state of mind. Some of the passengers noted his uneasy
movements and exchanged remarks in an undertone, as he passed and
repassed.

"He is probably crazy," said an Englishman.

"He is probably drunk," said an American.

"He is probably a defaulting bank cashier," said a Scotchman.

"He looks very wild," said a New York mamma.

"He looks very unhappy," said her daughter.

"He is very well dressed," said her son, who got his clothes half yearly
from Smallpage.

But the time passed at last, and the great thing came up to her pier,
and opened her jaws and disgorged her living freight down a steep plank
on to dry earth again; and the Duke, with a final look at the stream of
descending passengers, forced his way ashore, and jumped into the first
cab he saw.

"Drive to the nearest Elevated station," he shouted.

"Which avenue?" inquired the driver with that placidity which cabmen
assume whenever one is in a hurry.

"Oh, any avenue--damn the avenue--Sixth Avenue of course!" cried the
Duke in a stew.

"Very good, sir--Sixth Avenue Elevated, did you say?" and he
deliberately closed the door and mounted to his box.

"What shall I tell her--what shall I say?" were the questions that
repeated themselves with stunning force in his ear as he rattled through
the streets, and slid over the smooth Elevated Road, swiftly towards his
hotel. He had still some few hundred yards to walk from the station when
he got out. His courage failed him, and he walked slowly, with bent head
and heavy heart, the bearer of bad news.

Leisurely he climbed the steps, and the few stairs to his room. There
stood Lady Victoria under the gaslight, by the fire, looking at the
clock.

"At last," she cried, "how _did_ you miss him?"

"Whom?" asked her brother dejectedly.

"Why, Claudius, of course!"

"Claudius is not come," he said in a low voice.

"Not come