The speaker looked a gentleman. He sounded like one, too. Costume,
appearance, manner, were beyond reproach--even beyond the criticism of
two such keen critics as were these. The glorious attire of a London dandy
was surmounted with a beautiful white top hat. In his buttonhole was a
magnificent gardenia.
In age the stranger was scarcely more than a boy, and a sunny-faced,
handsome boy at that. His cheeks were hairless, his eyes were blue. His
smile was not only innocent, it was bland. Never was there a more
conspicuous illustration of that repose which stamps the caste of Vere de
Vere.
The duke looked at him and glowered. Mr. Dacre looked at him and smiled.
"Who are you?" asked the duke.
"Ah--that is the question!" The newcomer's refined and musical voice
breathed the very soul of affability. "I am an individual who is so
unfortunate as to be in want of five hundred pounds."
"Are you the scoundrel who sent me that infamous letter?"
The charming stranger never turned a hair.
"I am the scoundrel mentioned in that infamous letter who wants to accost
you at the Piccadilly end of the Burlington Arcade before half-past
five--as witness my white hat and my gardenia."
"Where's my wife?"
The stranger gently swung his stick in front of him with his two hands. He
regarded the duke as a merry-hearted son might regard his father.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387