"Oh, I daresay. You don't love me that much." Miss Cullen flicked her parasol. "Because a horrid old uncle chooses to say that I'm to be a ward of the court until I'm five-and-twenty am I to be a spinster all my life? If you love me the least little bit you'd invite the Lord Chancellor to come and see you marry me in the middle of Hyde Park, even if, directly the deed was done, he had your head cut off on Tower Hill." "Thanks, dear boy." Of course he married her. On the morning of the specified Thursday she went out for a stroll, and he went out for a stroll, and they met at the registrar's, and, as she put it, the deed was done. And, when the deed was done, she went home to lunch, and he went, not home to lunch, but to a private place, where he could swear. Now here they were, both of them, at Tuttenham. They encountered each other on the doorstep. She said, "How do you do, Mr. Stanham?" And he said, "How do you do, Miss Cullen?" "Nice way in which to have to greet your own wife," he told himself, having reached the comparatively safe solitude of his own apartment. Then the Duke got him into his own particular smoking-room. The Duke was in an arm-chair. Mr. Stanham stood before the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. The talk wandered from Dan to Beersheba. Then, a good deal _à propos des bottes_, the Duke dropped what he evidently intended to be taken as a hint. "If you take my advice, young man, you'll keep clear of Frances Cullen. She's here." Mr. Stanham winced. "Is she? Yes, I know. I met her on the steps." "Did you!" The Duke eyed him. He, not improbably, had observed the wince. "Warnings are issued all along that coast. Steer clear." "What do you think they'd do to a man if he were to marry her?" "Do to him! Tommy! I hope you're not meditating such a crime. She's not an ordinary ward of the court, any more than she's an ordinary millionaire." "So I suppose." "You had a little run with her in town. Everybody had their eyes on you, as you're aware. And when the Duchess told me she was coming I'd half a mind to write and put you off--fact! This is not a house in which even tacit encouragement can be offered to a dalliance with crime. Not"--the Duke puffed at his pipe--"not that she's half a bad sort of girl. She's clever. Very pretty. And she's got a way about her which plays havoc with a man." "Much obliged to you, I'm sure." "What do you mean?" "For saying a good word for my wife." "Your wife?" "Mrs. Thomas Stanham--_née_ Cullen." "Tommy! You don't mean it!" "You can bet your pile I do, and then safely go one better. I've got a copy of the marriage certificate in my pocket, and I rather fancy that she's got the original document in hers." "You--young blackguard!" "Sort of cousin of yours, ain't I, Datchet? It's all in the family, you know, blackguard and all." "How did you do it?--And when?--And who knows?"