wouldn't be
fair; and you've no right to expect it. I say, how jolly you're
looking!"

"Jolly!" said the duchess thickly.

"Well, pretty then. And your figure is better than ever--perfectly
ripping," said the duke with enthusiasm.

"You can leave me out of it!" cried the duchess in a tone of the last
exasperation. "And if you think I'm going to stand this, I'm not!"

"But what are you going to do about it?" said the duke mildly.

"Stop it!" said the duchess through her set teeth.

"But you can't stop it," said the duke in his most amiable tone. "I'm
getting domesticated, and I'm bent on having something in the way of a
family. Set on it. Of course you can say that your Marion is Lady
Marion Ricksborough; and I shall say that mine is. And some people
will believe you, but most people will believe me. And of course I
shall settle a good lump sum on Mary Bride when she marries, and leave
her all the unentailed property."

"Oh, but it's impossible!" cried the duchess writhing in her chair.
"Leaving your child out in the cold for a perfect stranger!"

"But she isn't. I tell you, she and I get on like a house on fire,"
said the duke with some impatience. "And it's perfectly all right; you
stick to your Marion; and I'll stick to mine."

The duchess rose and cried:

"It's abominable! The most cold-blooded thing I ever heard of! And if
you think you're going to get rid of us like this, you're wrong! I
stay here till this matter has been put right."

"Oh, I don't want to get rid of _you_," said the duke amiably.

The duchess ground her teeth and walked across the lawn with the air of
a Boadicea saving her country. The duke watched her graceful figure
till it disappeared through a long window into the pink drawing-room,
with admiring eyes. Then he smiled a Machiavellian smile.

The duchess went to her rooms in a mood of seething, but somewhat
helpless, fury. She was softened a little by finding them just as she
had left them two years before. Plainly some one had taken care of the
clothes she had left behind her; and her anxiety about a dress to dine
in was lulled to rest. She thought for a while that she would go and
berate Pollyooly; but she came to the conclusion that it would be
absurd to blame her for the action of the duke. It was much more
annoying to find that she could not reasonably blame the duke. She was
forced to admit that he had a right to the domestic life, if he wished
for it.