"I have not the honour of knowing," proceeded the little Spaniard, holding the big bully in his best rattlesnake fashion, "whether your grace is aware that I am the Duke of Salolja, and a Grandee of Spain, the present and, alas, unworthy representative of the noble house of Salolja, a family which has preserved its traditions and its honour intact from time immemorial." The effect of the announcement on Mr. Carnaby Leo was not quite apparent, except that he seemed in two minds whether to crunch up his diminutive opponent or to give way to abject terror. "What's all that to me?" he returned, in a voice that seemed to be getting rather out of control. The duke shrugged. "It is customary," he explained, "in my country, that in affairs of honour strict punctilio should be maintained. Further, I wish to do myself the honour of informing your grace that my family, the Saloljas, have never permitted an injury or an insult to pass unavenged." "Same with me," responded Mr. Leo, addressing himself, however, possibly for convenience' sake, to the men at the table. "It is," pursued the duke, intensifying his steady glare, "a matter of felicitation that our sentiments agree upon the point. But enough. I come, as you British say, to business. I have the honour to be the aggrieved party. Your grace is probably aware that I purpose to ally myself matrimonially with Miss Ulrica Buffkin?" The apparent irrelevance of the observation prompted Mr. Leo to pluck up a little courage. "No," he answered with a touch of his old manner, "I don't know, and I don't care." "So?" The little man steadied his rage by tugging at his portentous moustache. "Your grace refuses then to recognize my pretensions?" he demanded menacingly. Mr. Leo gave a stupid laugh. "You don't," he retorted with clumsy humour, "expect me to take off my hat to them, do you?" The duke accepted the defiance with a bow. "Perhaps not," he returned viciously. "So we will leave that affair for the present. It may be we shall never arrive so far together. There are, happily, other matters which have the precedence." "What are you mumbling about?" Mr. Leo inquired with characteristic politeness. "As I entered the room," continued the duke, ignoring the interruption, "I was struck on the--breast by a pine-apple thrown by your grace. Is it not so?" Mr. Leo forced a laugh. "Didn't see you coming," he explained weakly. The duke drew back a pace with every indication of astonishment. "Is it possible then," he demanded severely, "that your grace asks me to believe that you scatter fruit about your room for amusement?" "Sometimes," Carnaby replied uncomfortably. His tormentor waved aside the answer as frivolous.