[_Another silence. As the_ DUKE _lounges alertly about the room_, SMITH _speaks to the_ DOCTOR _in an undertone._ SMITH. Does it remind you of the French Revolution? DOCTOR. As much as of anything else. His Grace never reminds me of anything. [_A young and very high American voice is heard calling in the garden. "Say, could somebody see to one of these trunks?"_ [MR. HASTINGS _goes out into the garden. He returns with_ MORRIS CARLEON, _a very young man: hardly more than a boy, but with very grown-up American dress and manners. He is dark, smallish, and active; and the racial type under his Americanism is Irish._ MORRIS. [_Humorously, as he puts in his head at the window._] See here, does a Duke live here? DOCTOR. [_Who is nearest to him, with great gravity._] Yes, only one. MORRIS. I reckon he's the one I want, anyhow. I'm his nephew. [_The_ DUKE, _who is ruminating in the foreground, with one eye rather off, turns at the voice and shakes_ MORRIS _warmly by the hand._ DUKE. Delighted to see you, my dear boy. I hear you've been doing very well for yourself. MORRIS. [_Laughing._] Well, pretty well, Duke; and better still for Paul T. Vandam, I guess. I manage the old man's mines out in Arizona, you know. DUKE. [_Shaking his head sagaciously._] Ah, very go-ahead man! Very go-ahead methods, I'm told. Well, I dare say he does a great deal of good with his money. And we can't go back to the Spanish Inquisition. [_Silence, during which the three men look at each other._ MORRIS. [_Abruptly._] And how's Patricia? DUKE. [_A little hazily._] Oh, she's very well, I think. She.... [_He hesitates slightly._ MORRIS. [_Smiling._] Well, then, where's Patricia? [_There is a slightly embarrassed pause, and the_ DOCTOR _speaks._ DOCTOR. Miss Carleon is walking about the grounds, I think. [MORRIS _goes to the garden doors and looks out._ MORRIS. It's a mighty chilly night to choose. Does my sister commonly select such evenings to take the air--and the damp? DOCTOR. [_After a pause._] If I may say so, I quite agree with you. I have often taken the liberty of warning your sister against going out in all weathers like this. DUKE. [_Expansively waving his hands about._] The artist temperament! What I always call the artistic temperament! Wordsworth, you know, and all that. [_Silence._ MORRIS. [_Staring._] All what? DUKE. [_Continuing to lecture with enthusiasm._] Why, everything's temperament, you know! It's her temperament to see the fairies. It's my temperament not to see the fairies. Why, I've walked all round the grounds twenty times and never saw a fairy. Well, it's like that about this wizard or whatever she calls it. For her there is somebody there. For us there would not be somebody there. Don't you see? MORRIS. [_Advancing excitedly._] Somebody there! What do you mean? DUKE. [_Airily._] Well, you can't quite call it a man. MORRIS. [_Violently._] A man!