"Oh, yes; I remember the General well—a shrewd old party with eyes like gimlets," said Beaumanoir. "But what’s this about Grosvenor Gardens?" he added quickly. "The Sadgroves used to live in Bruton Street." "Quite so; but they moved to 140 Grosvenor Gardens, last Christmas." "140!" exclaimed the Duke. "Why, that’s where the Shermans are going to stay. Some friends of mine who—who came over in the same ship," he went on to explain rather lamely. Forsyth shot an amused glance at his old crony. "Yes, I know that Uncle Jem was expecting some Americans to put up with him, and he has been raving about the charms of the young lady of the party for the last fortnight. You are excited, Charley. Your manner has struck me as strange since we met at the hotel. Is it permitted to inquire if my uncle is entertaining unawares—a future Duchess?" To the young Scotsman’s surprise, the Duke showed signs for a moment of taking the light-spoken banter amiss. Beaumanoir flushed, and muttered something inarticulate, but pulled himself together and diverted their talk into a fresh channel, clumsily enough. "Don’t gas about me, old chap," he said. "Tell me of yourself. Is the world using you better than formerly?" "About the same," Forsyth replied with a shrug. "They gave me a twenty-pound rise last year, so my pay as a third-grade clerk in the Foreign Office is now the princely sum of £230 per annum. Not a brilliant prospect. When I’m a worn-out old buffer of sixty I shall be able to retire on a pension about equal to my present pay." "Then look here, Alec; chuck the public service and come to me," said the Duke, eagerly. "I’ll give you eight hundred a year to begin with, and rises up to two thousand; and you can have the dower-house at Prior’s Tarrant to live in. Call yourself private secretary, bailiff, anything you please—only come. The fact is—well, I’ve been a bit shaken by—by what I’ve gone through. I want someone near me who’s more than a mere hireling." It was Forsyth’s turn to flush now, but with pleasure at the offer made to him. He accepted it in a few simple words, and the Duke rose and paid his score. "Come with me to Pattisons’," he said. "Then we’ll go on to Piccadilly and take possession." The business at the lawyers’, which consisted of little more than arranging future meetings, was soon finished, and the Duke and his new secretary took a fresh cab to the West End. As they bowled along Beaumanoir inquired further about his cousin Sybil, whom, owing to his absence in India and more latterly to his estrangement from his relations, he had never met. Forsyth imparted the information that for the last six months, since she "came out," she had virtually ruled the late Duke’s household.