"No, thank you." Mr. Buffkin's voice was high-pitched, almost squeaky, and quite common. "We don't desire any foreign alliance." "As Duchesse de Salolja"--began the duke. "No good," interrupted Mr. Buffkin, with a decisive shake of his very commercial-looking head. "Spanish titles are not a line I care to handle. I've told Bar--Ulrica she can marry whom she likes, but if it's a foreigner, duke or fiddler, she'll have to do it on three hundred a year." The Salolja lip curled. "His excellency jests. The renowned millionaire Buffkin allows his daughter, the Duchesse de Salolja, three hundred pounds a year! It is rich!" Mr. Buffkin looked particularly irresponsive. "Who says I am a millionaire?" he demanded shrilly. The duke bowed and indicated Lady Ormstork. "A _façon de parler_," that lady explained. "Anyhow, a very rich man." "Divide it by ten," said Mr. Buffkin with a twinkle. The duke looked suddenly chastened, not to say depressed. "The glorious Miss Ulrica," he said with an obvious effort, "would be an inestimable prize without a penny of dowry." "That's about what she'll have if she marries you," returned Mr. Buffkin, whose eloquence, if not exactly copious, was considerably to the point. "Shall we drive on?" suggested Lady Ormstork. "_Au revoir_, Lord Quorn," she gushed. "Till this afternoon, then. _Au revoir_, Mr. Gage." Not knowing Peckover's name, since the reshuffle, she discreetly left him out. But Ulrica's parting nod was for him alone. As the carriage rolled away up the High Street the duke was the first to speak. "What time does that infernal train leave your unsavoury town of Great Bunbury?" he inquired. CHAPTER XLII Sharnbrook had called at Staplewick for an authoritative version of certain blood-curdling rumours which had reached him, and he stayed to luncheon. "Wish I'd known you were having such a thrilling time," he said regretfully. "I'd have come up and helped. Well, I say, with this new twist of the Quorn title our fair friends at the Moat will get a nasty shake, eh? I'm ever so grateful for the way you fellows have relieved the pressure of the fair dodgers; they've eased off wonderfully of late, and I've got my wind again." "Glad to hear it," observed Peckover. "Always willing to oblige a sportsman." "Ah," said Sharnbrook in a gratified tone, "if I'd only known you were having fits with that little Spanish bantam, I'd have brought along a rare good bull-dog that would have reduced him to fragments and pulp inside three minutes. A nailing beast, knows his business from A to Z and quite a picture when he's----" "The little devil of a duke would have put a bullet through him," said Gage, "and that would have been a pity." "Yes," Sharnbrook agreed, "that wouldn't have suited me. I've only had the beggar a month, and have just got fond of him." "Even a Spanish bluffer has his uses," observed Gage. "He has knocked the stuffing out of Quorn's bush-ranger."