Claude had no doubt in his own mind as to whom they were talking about. Already the Duke inspired him with a sort of second-self-consciousness. Prepared for anything, he hastened to the room and nervously knocked at the door. "Come in!" cried Jack's voice. The door was unlocked; as Claude opened it the heat of the room fairly staggered him. It was a sufficiently warm summer night, yet an enormous fire was burning in the grate. "My _dear_ fellow!" panted Claude. Jack was in his trousers and shirt; the sleeves were rolled up over his brawny arms; the open front revealed an estuary of hairy chest; and it was plain at a glance that the Duke was perspiring at every pore. "It's all right," he said. "It's for the cats." "The cats!" said Claude. They were lying round about the fire. "Yes, poor devils! They had a fire every day in the hut, summer and winter. They never had a single one at sea. They like to sleep by it--they always did--all but Livingstone. He sleeps with me when he isn't on the loose." "But you'll never be able to sleep in an atmosphere like this!" Jack was cutting up a pipeful of his black tobacco. "Well, it _is_ warm," he admitted. "And now you mention it, I may find it a job to get asleep; but the cats like it, anyhow!" And he swore at them affectionately as he lit his pipe. "Did you forget you'd left me downstairs?" asked Claude. "Clean! I apologise. I took this idea into my head, and I could think of nothing else." "May we have another window open? Thank you. I'll smoke one cigarette; then I must be off." "Where to?" "My chambers--to dress." "To _undress_, you mean!" "No, to dress. I've got to go out to a--to a party. I had almost forgotten about it. The truth is, I want to see Lady Caroline Sellwood, who, although not a near relation, is about the only woman in London with our blood in her veins. She will want to see you. What's the matter?" Jack's pipe had gone out in his hand; and there he stood, a pillar of perspiring bewilderment. "A party!" he murmured. "At this time o' night!" Claude laughed. "It's not ten o'clock yet; if I'm there before half-past eleven I shall be too early." "I give you best," said Jack, shaking his head, and putting another light to his pipe. "It licks _me_! Who's the madman who gives parties in the middle of the night?" "My dear fellow, everybody does! In this case it's a woman: the Countess of Darlingford." "A live Countess!" "Well, but you're a live Duke." "But--I'm--a live--Dook!" Jack repeated the words as though the fact had momentarily escaped him. His pipe went out again. This time he made no attempt to relight it, but stood staring at Claude with his bare brown arms akimbo, and much trouble in his rugged, honest face. "You can't get out of it," laughed Claude.