"Mine?"

"Yes; yours and Ethel's."

A light broke in upon Sir John's somewhat obtuse mind. He had no
desire to expedite matters, but then he was not the principal person
to be consulted, and it certainly was not for him to raise any
objection, so he acted immediately on the hint given him.

"My dear Duchess, what can I say? The matter rests entirely in your
hands. Let it be when you please. In another month I shall be
comparatively free, and we can visit Switzerland if Ethel wishes."

The Duchess smiled. "That you must arrange with Ethel herself, and
perhaps you had better broach the subject yourself to her. Girls are
apt to be a little curious on these points."

"Then I will ask her to fix the day for our marriage." He bowed with
old-fashioned gallantry over the pearl-grey suede, held out in
farewell, and the Duchess rustled away with Soames, the deferential,
in close attendance.

Soames did not like the idea of a mistress, but these "accidents" he
was well aware, would happen in the best regulated families, so he
was now bent on making friends with the Mammon of Unrighteousness in
the shape of the Duchess of Huddersfield and the bride elect.

Left alone, Sir John stood upright, his hand on the back of his chair
and his brows tightly drawn together.