Mr. Golden paused. He felt that to such a question as this it would be advisable that he should frame his answer in a particular manner. "Your Grace will understand that different persons have different ways of purchasing. Lady A. has her way. Lady B. has her way, and the Duchess of Datchet has hers." "Are you suggesting that the Duchess of Datchet is a kleptomaniac?" Mr. Golden was silent. "Do you think that that is a comfortable suggestion to make to a husband, Mr. Golden?" Just then someone tapped at the door. "Who's there?" A voice--a feminine voice--enquired without, "Can I come in?" Before the Duke could deny the right of entry, the door opened and a woman entered. A tall woman, and a young and a lovely one. When she perceived Messrs. Ruby and Golden she cast an enquiring look in the direction of the Duke. "Are you engaged?" The Duke was eyeing her with a somewhat curious expression of countenance. "I believe you know these gentlemen?" "Do I? I ought to know them perhaps, but I'm afraid I don't." Mr. Ruby was all affability and bows, and smiles and rubbings of hands. "I have not had the honour of seeing the lady upon a previous occasion." The Duke of Datchet stared. "You have not had the honour? Then what--what the dickens do you mean? This is the Duchess!" "The Duchess!" cried Messrs. Ruby and Golden. "Certainly--the Duchess of Datchet." Messrs. Ruby and Golden looked blue. They looked more than blue--they looked several colours of the rainbow all at once. They stared as though they could not believe the evidence of their eyes and ears. The Duke turned to the Duchess. He opened the door for her. "Duchess, will you excuse me for a moment? I have something which I particularly wish to say to these gentlemen." The Duchess disappeared. When she had gone the Duke not only closed the door behind her, but he stood with his back against the door which he had closed. His manner, all at once, was scarcely genial. "Now, what shall I do with you, gentlemen? You come to my house and charge the Duchess of Datchet with having been a constant visitor at your shop for the purpose of robbing you, and it turns out that you have actually never seen the Duchess of Datchet in your lives until this moment." "But," gasped Mr. Ruby, "that--that is not the lady who came to our establishment, and--and called herself the Duchess of Datchet." "Well, sir, and what has that to do with me? Am I responsible for the proceedings of every sharper who comes to your shop and chooses to call herself the Duchess of Datchet? I should advise you, in future, before advancing reckless charges, to make some enquiries into the _bona fides_ of your customers, Mr. Ruby. Now, gentlemen, you may go." The Duke held the door wide open, invitingly. Mr. Golden caught his partner by the sleeve, as though he feared that he would, with undue celerity, accept the invitation.