"That's all right," he interrupts. "I've fixed up that--a treat. Truth,
that's why I'm going."

I thought at first he meant she was going with him.

"No," he says, "she's going to be the Duchess of Ridingshire with the
kind consent o' the kid I spoke about. If not, she'll be the Marchioness
of Appleford. 'E's doing the square thing. There's going to be a quiet
marriage to-morrow at the Registry Office, and then I'm off."

"What need for you to go?" I says.

"No need," he says; "it's a fancy o' mine. You see, me gone, there's
nothing to 'amper 'er--nothing to interfere with 'er settling down as a
quiet, respectable toff. With a 'alf-brother, who's always got to be
spry with some fake about 'is lineage and 'is ancestral estates, and who
drops 'is 'h's,' complications are sooner or later bound to a-rise. Me
out of it--everything's simple. Savey?"

Well, that's just how it happened. Of course, there was a big row when
the family heard of it, and a smart lawyer was put up to try and undo the
thing. No expense was spared, you bet; but it was all no go. Nothing
could be found out against her. She just sat tight and said nothing. So
the thing had to stand. They went and lived quietly in the country and
abroad for a year or two, and then folks forgot a bit, and they came back
to London. I often used to see her name in print, and then the papers
always said as how she was charming and graceful and beautiful, so I
suppose the family had made up its mind to get used to her.

One evening in she comes to the Savoy. My wife put me up to getting that