"He's Lord Quorn right enough," corroborated Peckover, with a chastened confession of a truth which could no longer be kept in the well. "How singular," murmured Lady Ormstork, only half convinced and wondering how, if it turned out to be true, she would stand. A professional-looking elderly man with a brief bag in his hand who had been regarding the group with some attention now came forward. "Lord Quorn?" he said, addressing the peer. Quorn jumped round. "What, Powler!" he cried. "Just the man, in the nick of time. Here, you can tell this lady whether I'm Lord Quorn or not. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Mr. Powler, my lawyer, of the firm of Powler, Gaze and Powler, Lincoln's Inn. Come down to see me, eh?" "Getting no reply to our letters since your lordship left town, I thought I would just run down to Staplewick and see how things were getting on," Mr. Powler explained. "Yes," he continued, "I am quite prepared to vouch for the identity of this gentleman as Lord Quorn." "There!" cried Lady Ormstork, "I always said so. What a splendid practical joke, though, to try to take us all in. How well you played the part," she said guilefully to Gage. "Dear Lord Quorn," she continued gushingly, "this is all most interesting. May we come up this afternoon us usual? Mr. Buffkin is so anxious to see beautiful Staplewick." "Come as soon as you like," said Quorn promptly. "How sweet of you," murmured Lady Ormstork. "Dear Ulrica would be sorry to miss her daily ramble in the lovely park. Wouldn't you, dear?" "I dare say I should," responded Miss Buffkin indifferently, with a half grimace at Peckover. "I have," the duke suddenly burst out, "a word to say to Miss Ulrica. I do myself the honour of following your distinguished carriage to The Cracknels." "Please don't," both ladies protested. "I fear," the elder continued. "I cannot, after this _esclandre_, undertake to receive you." The duke gave a mingled shrug, scowl and bow. "It plunges me into despair," he said, with just a suspicion of sarcasm, "to be deprived of the supreme happiness of milady Ormstork's coveted society. Perhaps, though, I may be humbly permitted an interview with the distinguished Mr. Buffkin?" Mr. Buffkin, whose distinction required the penetrating eye of the Spaniard to notice it, and whose conversational powers did not seem to be of a high order, looked aggressively uncomfortable. "Is this," he inquired bluntly, "the Spanish gentleman who has been pestering Barbara--I mean Ulrica--with his attentions?" The duke made a prancing step on the pavement. "Pestering?" he repeated hoarsely, pulling his moustache with nervous fury. "That," replied Lady Ormstork uncompromisingly, "is the person; the Duke of Salolja." "I have," said the duke, with a flourish, "the honour to desire a matrimonial alliance with your gracious and adorable daughter."