He spoke of the Peak in Derbyshire, near which his country seat, Bretby Hall, was situated. The phrase at Court came to pass into a jocular proverb; so that to rid oneself of a tiresome wife was to send her to the Peak. But the threat a little alarmed Hamilton. It was true that, if carried into effect, it might prove itself the short cut to his own desired goal, since friends come doubly welcomed into killing solitudes; still, that welcome, gained at the sacrifice, perhaps, of a month in town, was a prospect altogether too wry to be entertained with composure. No, he must certainly counter the suggestion with all his wits. “Why?” he said. “What is poor Kate’s new offence?” “Did I speak of any?” snarled Chesterfield. “The old is wide enough and long enough to serve the purpose of a score.” “How do you mean?” “How, says he! Why, does she not take advantage of my tongue-tied state to flaunt her coquetries in my very face?” “Speak to her, then.” “You know I cannot.” “O, you can, indeed!” “I’ll see her damned first!” “Why, there you are. You’ll see her damned first, and so you will.” “So I will? What do you imply by that?” “Did you not say you would? Your word on it, then, you will.” “Curse you! You mean the Duke.” “Curse you! What Duke?” “Don’t you know very well?” “O, a pox on these conundrums! What Duke, I say?” “York, then.” “What! Is _he_ the villain?” “I’ve watched them exchange glances.” “Why, so have I, and so have hundreds.” “You own it?” “With perfect equanimity. Such frank barter of the eyes is your surest proof of innocence. Give me your stolen look for mischief.” “You think he means none, then?” Hamilton laughed, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “O, Phil!” said he, “thou art surely possessed. The Duke hath other fish to fry; his net is full. Believe me, on my sincerity” (and he meant it), “your jealousy corrupts your judgment. And more--it dishonours your wife. Come, tell me--how goes it with the little country skit, Kate’s friend?” Chesterfield, but half convinced, shook his head and growled. “She wearies me. A tasteless business.” “What!” said the other, again perturbed: “you are not crying off?” “No”--he shrugged--“O, faith, no! But, ’tis uphill work.” “The looser rein to give yourself. A plague on distaste! That is to put on the brake uphill.” “A common creature, nevertheless, to appear my more natural choice--and when _she_ is by. I think Kate must hold me despicable.” “Is the skit so common?” “Troth, you’d think it: though, to do her justice, she makes one laugh.” “Still, though against your inclinations, you play the part?” “O! I play it.” “And with what effect so far?” “None that you promised--unless rank mutiny lay in your scheme. She seems determined to show me that, of all men she encounters, I stand least in her regard.”