After a prolonged pause, a spare individual in a plush waistcoat shining with grease shuffled out from the nether regions of the hostelry, and stood staring at the Duke with his mouth open and his watery eyes popping out of their sockets. Several teeth were missing from his jaw, and a broken nose added nothing to the comeliness of his face. The sight of a well-dressed stranger within the precincts of the inn appeared to bereave him of all power of speech.

“Good afternoon!” said the Duke pleasantly. “Have you a Mr. Liversedge staying at this inn?”

The man in the plush waist coat blinked at him, and said enigmatically: “Ah!”

The Duke drew out his pocket-book, and produced from it his cousin’s card. “Be so good as to take that up to him!” he said.

The man in the plush waistcoat wiped his hand mechanically on his breeches, and took the card, and stood holding it doubtfully, and still staring at the Duke. The sight of the pocket-book had made his eyes glisten a little, and the Duke could only be glad that he had had the forethought to leave the bulk of his money at the White Horse. The presence of the pistol in his pocket was also a comfort.

He was just about to request his bemused new acquaintance to bestir himself, when a door apparently leading out to the stableyard opened, and a burly man with grizzled hair and a square, ill-shaven countenance appeared upon the scene. He cast the Duke a swift, suspicious look out of his narrowed eyes, and asked in a wary tone what his business might be. The man in the plush waistcoat mutely held out Mr. Ware’s elegantly engraved visiting-card.

“I have business with Mr. Liversedge,” said the Duke.

This piece of information seemed to afford the newcomer no gratification, for he shot another and still more suspicious look at Gilly, and removed the card from his henchman’s hand. It took him a little time to spell out the legend it bore, but he did it at last, and it seemed to the Duke that although his suspicion did not abate, it became tinged with uneasiness. He fixed his eyes, which held no very pleasant expression, on the Duke, and palpably weighed him up. Apparently he saw nothing in the slight, boyish figure before him to occasion more than contempt, for his uneasy look vanished, and he gave a hoarse chuckle, and said: “Ho! It is, is it? Well, I dunno, but I’ll see.”

He then mounted a creaking stair, and the Duke was left to endure the gaze of the man in the plush waistcoat.

After a prolonged interval, the landlord reappeared. The Duke had caught the echoes of his voice raised in argument in some room above; and it seemed to him when he came downstairs that his uneasiness had returned. The Duke should have been able to sympathize with him: he was feeling a little uneasy himself.

“You’ll please to come up, sir,” said the landlord, with the air of one repeating a hard-learned lesson.

The Duke, who had slid one hand unobtrusively into the pocket of his drab Benjamin, and closed it round the reassuring butt of Mr. Joseph Manton’s pistol, drew a breath, and trod up the stairs.

He was led down a passage to a room at the back of the house. The landlord thrust the door wide, and announced him in simple terms: “Here he is, Sa—sir!” he said.

The Duke found himself upon the threshold of a square and not uncomfortable apartment which had been fitted up as a parlour. It was very much cleaner than the rest of the house, and it was plain that efforts had been made to achieve a semblance of elegance. The curtains, though faded, had lately been washed; the table in the centre of the room was covered with a red cloth; and one or two portable objects seemed to indicate that the guest at present inhabiting the room had brought with him various articles of furniture of his own.

Standing before a small fire was a middle-aged gentleman of somewhat portly habit of body, and a bland, pallid countenance surmounted by a fine crop of iron-grey hair, swept up into a fashionable Brutus. He was dressed with great propriety in a dark cloth coat and light pantaloons; the points of his shirt-collar brushed his whiskers; his cravat was arranged with nicety; and it was only upon closer examination that the Duke perceived that his elegant coat was sadly shiny, and his shirt by no means innocent of darns. There was a strong resemblance between him and the landlord, but his countenance had an air of unshakable good-humour, which the landlord’s lacked, and nothing could have exceeded the gentility with which he came forward, holding out a plump hand, and saying: “All, Mr. Ware! I am very happy to receive this visit from you!”

The Duke had by this time visualized the possibility of his corpse being cast into the evil-smelling pond beside the inn, but he could see no obligation on him to take Mr. Liversedge’s hand, he merely bowed. Mr. Liversedge, whose eyes had been running over him shrewdly, smiled more widely than ever, and drew out a chair from the table, and said: “Let us be seated, sir! Alas, you have come upon a very painful errand! I assure you I feel for you, sir, for I have been young myself, but my duty is to my unfortunate niece. Ah, Mr. Ware, you little know the pain and grief—I may say the chagrin—you have inflicted on one whose tender heart was been so undeservedly smitten!” Overcome by the picture his own words had conjured up, he disappeared for a moment or two into a large handkerchief.

The Duke sat down, and laid his hat on the table. He said in his diffident way: “Indeed, I am sorry for that, Mr. Liversedge. I should not wish to cause any female pain or grief.”

Mr. Liversedge raised his bowed head. “There,” he said, much moved, “speaks a member of the Quality! I knew it, Mr. Ware! True Blue! When my niece has wept upon this bosom, declaring herself forsaken and betrayed, My love, I have said, depend upon it a scion of that noble house will not fail to do you right! I thank God, Mr. Ware, that my faith in humanity is not to be rudely shaken!”

“I hope not, indeed,” said the Duke. “But, you know, I had no notion that your niece’s affections were so deeply engaged.”

“Sir,” said Mr. Liversedge, “you are young! you do not yet know the depths of woman’s heart!”

“No,” agreed the Duke. “But will money allay the—the pangs of grief and chagrin?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Liversedge simply.

The Duke could not help smiling at this. He said in a meek tone: “Forgive me, Mr. Liversedge, but is not a—a transaction of this nature repugnant to a man of your sensibility?”

“Mr. Ware,” said Mr. Liversedge, “I shall not conceal from you that it is deeply repugnant. I am, as you have divined, a man of sensibility, and it is with profound reluctance that I have compelled myself to take up the cudgels on behalf of my orphaned niece.”

“At her instigation?” murmured the Duke.

Mr. Liversedge surveyed him, a calculating look in his eye. “My niece,” he said, “has been put to great expense on account of expectations raised, Mr. Ware. I need not enumerate. But bride-clothes, you know, sir, and—”

“Five thousand pounds?” said Gilly, in bewildered accents.

They looked at one another. “I am persuaded,” said Mr. Liversedge reproachfully, “that you would not wish to do anything unhandsome, sir. Considering the elevated nature of my niece’s expectations, five thousand pounds cannot be considered an extortionate figure.”

“But I am quite unable to pay such a sum,” said Gilly.

Mr. Liversedge spread out his hands. “It is very disagreeable for me to be obliged to remind you, sir, that you are nearly related to one, who, I am persuaded, would not regard such a trifling sum any more than you or I would regard a crown piece.”

“Sale?” said the Duke. “Oh, he would never pay it!”

Mr. Liversedge said in a shocked voice: “I cannot be brought to believe, sir, that his Grace would grudge it!”

The Duke shook his head sadly. “I do not stand next to him in the succession, you know. I have two uncles, and a cousin before me. And my father, Mr. Liversedge, is not a rich man.”

“I cannot credit that his Grace would permit his name to be dragged through the mire of the Courts!” said Mr. Liversedge, with resolution.

“And I am sure,” said the Duke gently, “that you would shrink from dragging your niece’s name through that mire.”

“Shrink, yes,” acknowledged Mr. Liversedge. “But I shall steel myself, Mr. Ware. That is, I should do so if his Grace were to prove adamant. But what a shocking thing if the head of such a noble house should have so little regard for his name!”

“I wonder what course you had the intention of pursuing if I had fled to Gretna Green with your niece?” said the Duke thoughtfully. “For I cannot suppose that an alliance for her with anyone so lacking in fortune and expectation as myself was what you had in mind!”

“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Liversedge, without a blush. “But she is a minor, after all! little more than a child! The marriage might have been set aside—at a price.”

The Duke laughed. “Come, we begun to understand one another better! You may as well own, sir, that your object is to squeeze money from my noble relative, no matter on what pretext.”

“Between these four walls, Mr. Ware,” said Liversedge cheerfully. “Between these four walls!”

“How much it must disgust a man of your sensibility to be reduced to such straits!” observed the Duke.

Liversedge sighed. “It does, sir. In fact, it is quite out of my line.”

“What is your line?” enquired the Duke curiously.

Mr. Liversedge waved an airy hand. “Cards, sir, cards! I flatter myself I had established myself with every prospect of success. But Fate singled me out to be the object of vile persecution, Mr. Ware. I am—temporarily, of course—without the means to re-establish myself suitably, and you see me forced to eke out a miserable existence in surroundings which, I am persuaded, you will easily descry to be, totally unfitting for any man of gentility. You, Mr. Ware, who are putting up, I make no doubt, in the comfort of the George—an excellent hostelry!—can have little notion—”