clothes, rather too tight for me, and wearing a bad hat rakishly cocked over one eye. The duchess surveyed me with great curiosity.
“Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man,” said she. “Oh, by the way, your name’s George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you. Good-by, Mr. Aycon. I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances.”
“They could not be pleasanter—but they might be more prolonged,” said I.
“It was so good of you to come,” she said, pressing my hand.
“The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!” cried Suzanne warningly.
“How very annoying it is! I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the duke!”
“I shall not forget my day here,” I assured her.
“You won’t? It’s charming of you. Oh, how dull it will be now! It only wanted the arrival of—— Well, good-by!”
And with a final and long pressure of the duchess’ hand, I, in the garb and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the château.
“One thing,” I observed to myself as I started, “would seem highly probable—and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before.”
The idea did not please me. I like to do things first.
