"I told her she'd
better be in by four. She says that she's not feeling well, and yet one
would think that she was not aware of the fatigue entailed in having the
prince come to dinner, and a mob of people to follow. I particularly
wished her to lie down for a couple of hours."
Knowles ushered in not only Barnes, the coachman, but Moysey, the footman,
too. Both these persons seemed to be ill at ease. The duke glanced at them
sharply. In his voice there was a suggestion of impatience.
"What is the matter?"
Barnes explained as best he could.
"If you please, your grace, we waited for the duchess outside Cane and
Wilson's, the drapers. The duchess came out, got into the carriage, and
Moysey shut the door, and her grace said, 'Home!' and yet when we got home
she wasn't there."
"She wasn't where?"
"Her grace wasn't in the carriage, your grace."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Her grace did get into the carriage; you shut the door, didn't you?"
Barnes turned to Moysey. Moysey brought his hand up to his brow in a sort
of military salute--he had been a soldier in the regiment in which, once
upon a time, the duke had been a subaltern.
"She did. The duchess came out of the shop. She seemed rather in a hurry,
I thought. She got into the carriage, and she said, 'Home, Moysey!' I shut
the door, and Barnes drove straight home.
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