"I fear that your education, Evelyn, has led you to take such things far more lightly than you ought. I am old-fashioned. Illegitimacy with me _does_ carry a stigma, and the sins of the fathers _are_ visited upon the children. At any rate, we who occupy a prominent social place have no right to do anything which may lead others to think lightly of God's law. I am sorry to speak plainly, Evelyn. I dare say you don't like these sentiments, but you know, at least, that I am quite honest in expressing them." The Duke turned to her, not without dignity. He was and had been from his boyhood a person of irreproachable morals--earnest and religious according to his lights, a good son, husband, and father. His wife looked at him with mingled feelings. "Well, all I know is," she said, passionately beating her little foot on the carpet before her, "that, by all accounts, the only thing to do with Colonel Delaney was to run away from him." The Duke shrugged his shoulders. "You don't expect me to be much moved by a remark of that kind? As to this lady, your story does not affect me in her favor in the smallest degree. She has had her education; Lord Lackington gives her one hundred pounds a year; if she is a self-respecting woman she will look after herself. I _don't_ want to have her here, and I beg you won't invite her. A couple of nights, perhaps--I don't mind that--but not for longer." "Oh, as to that, you may be very sure she won't stay here unless you're very particularly nice to her. There'll be plenty of people glad--enchanted--to have her! I don't care about that, but what I _do_ want is"--the Duchess looked up with calm audacity--"that you should find her a house." The Duke paused in his walk and surveyed his wife with amazement. "Evelyn, are you _quite_ mad?" "Not in the least. You have more houses than you know what to do with, and a _great_ deal more money than anybody in the world ought to have. If they ever do set up the guillotine at Hyde Park Corner, we shall be among the first--we ought to be!" "What is the good of talking nonsense like this, Evelyn?" said the Duke, once more consulting his watch. "Let's go back to the subject of my letter to Lady Henry." "It's most excellent sense!" cried the Duchess, springing up. "You _have_ more houses than you know what to do with; and you have one house in particular--that little place at the back of Cureton Street where Cousin Mary Leicester lived so long--which is in your hands still, I know, for you told me so last week--which is vacant and furnished--Cousin Mary left you the furniture, as if we hadn't got enough!--and it would be the _very_ thing for Julie, if only you'd lend it to her till she can turn round." The Duchess was now standing up, confronting her lord, her hands grasping the chair behind her, her small form alive with eagerness and the feminine determination to get her own way, by fair means or foul.