“Oh, there are no ‘buts,’” Drum-pipes insisted. “She’s as fine in mind and temper as she is in body. I’m very particular about intellect, as you know, and I’ve studied her closely. She has a very sound brain, Davie--for a woman. But how on earth did you come to stumble upon them?” Mosscrop did not explain. “The thing that impressed me about her, curiously enough,” he said, with tranquil discursiveness, “was her extremely democratic aversion to our ranks and hereditary titles. She and her father seem to be the most violent anti-aristocrats I ever knew.” “Yes, that _is_ a trifle awkward,” the Earl admitted. “I don’t think it’s more than skin-deep with the old man, but Adele--that’s her name, as beautiful as herself, isn’t it?--she’s tremendously in earnest about it. That has rather queered my pitch--I haven’t told them, you know, about the title and all that. They know me just as simple Mr. Linkhaw.” “‘Simple’ is so precisely the word,” commented Mosscrop. “Well, what was I to do?” the other protested in self-defence. “I was travelling under that name in Kentucky--went there to look at a big sale of thoroughbreds, you know--and met the father, and then I met the girl, and they had me to their house in the country--a magnificent place, by George--and she had so much to say against the classes here, and took such a strong position against titles and all that--why, I _would_ have been a juggins to tell her at the start; and after, it gradually occurred to me that I wouldn’t say anything at all, but just go on and win her as plain Mr. Linkhaw. Then I could be sure I was being loved for myself alone, couldn’t I?” “Your sentimentality is most touching,” said David; “but I fear it will cost you heavily.” “Oh, by the way, yes,” remarked Drum-pipes, collecting his thoughts; “you said something awhile ago about there being a bother of some sort. What is it?” Then an idea occurred to him, and he lifted his head eagerly. “You haven’t gone and blabbed about me, have you--told her who I was, and all that?” “Quite the contrary,” smiled David. “It was she who recognised _me_ at once as the Earl of Drumpipes. It seems you showed her my picture on shipboard, and told her who I was, and all about me. Do you recall the incident?” The Earl nodded, foolishly. “It’s my confounded imagination,” he groaned. “I’m always making an ass of myself like that. God only knows why I should have gone out of my way to invent that idiotic rubbish. But you get awfully bard up for conversation on shipboard, you know. And so it all came out, and she’s chuckling to think what a clumsy liar and guy I made of myself--and I’ve gone and ordered all those clothes--and----” “Be reassured, most noble Thane,” cried David, gaily. “There has been no disclosure. Nothing came out. I accepted the situation. I did not for an instant betray you. I said, ‘Certainly: I _am_ the Earl of Drumpipes,’ without so much as the flicker of an eyelid. There’s friendship for you, if you like.”