It was a pleasant walk; and the Honourable John Ruffin was alive to the
fact that the company of Pollyooly greatly improved it. But at times
to his astonishment he was no less distinctly conscious of the fact
that two were company and three were none; and he was the third.

At dinner that night he said somewhat gloomily:

"I wish Caroline would hurry up and start firmly to come back to you.
I miss Pollyooly."

"Give her time--give her time," said the duke quickly. "Besides the
country is doing the child a lot of good."

"Oh, it's all very well for you. You've got a chef; but I've got no
one to grill my bacon, and that after training Pollyooly to be the
finest griller of bacon in England," said the Honourable John Ruffin in
a bitterly aggrieved tone.

"Don't you think you're a bit selfish? You ought to think of the good
the country's doing the child," said the duke in a somewhat lofty tone.

The Honourable John Ruffin snarled quietly.

The next afternoon, as he was getting into the car to go to the
station, he paused and said in his most amiable tone:

"Well, all I can say is: it's a jolly good thing for everybody that
Pollyooly isn't six years older."

"Oh, get out!" said the duke.

"Especially for Pollyooly," said the Honourable John Ruffin; and he
stepped into the car.

CHAPTER XXI

LORD RONALD RICKSBOROUGH COMES TO THE COURT

On the Wednesday morning, in the middle of lessons, a footman came from
the duke to ask Pollyooly to go to him at once. She went wondering,
and found him in the smoking-room in a panic.

As she entered he waved a telegram at her and said:

"Here's a new mess. Lord Ronald Ricksborough--you know him--he's my
heir, you know--always spends his holidays at the court. He's been
visiting friends, but his visit's at an end; and he wires to say that
he's coming here--arriving this evening."

"Oh, that will be nice!" cried Pollyooly.

"Oh, will it? Suppose he finds out you're not Lady Marion?" cried the
duke.

"But he knows I'm not; and he knows I'm here," said Pollyooly.

"The deuce he does!" cried the duke.

"Yes. I wrote and told him so," said Pollyooly.

"You did?" cried the duke; and he clutched at his moustache.

"Yes. We often write to one another--just short letters. You know
we're engaged to be married, when we grow up. He gave me this ring,"
said Pollyooly in a tone of quiet explanation, holding out her hand.

The duke gasped heavily.

"I don't kn