The Duke, more angry than ever, went back to Grosvenor Square. He was determined to face it out. Country houses are proverbially glad of a piece of gossip to give their dull life an interest. He began to go out into society, as much as there was at that early season, and present a bold front to the world. His home was dull enough, with Lady Jane locked into her room and watched, lest by craft or force she should make her escape; her mother obstinately refusing to go out, or accompany him anywhere; his very servants looking at him reproachfully. The butler, who had been with him for about thirty years, and whose knowledge of wine and of the cellars at Billings was inexhaustible, threw up his situation; and so did the housekeeper, who was Jarvis’s wife. “I don’t hold with no such goings-on,” Mrs Jarvis said. And when he dined with the leader of his party (which was in opposition) Mrs Coningsby did not wait till the conclusion of the dinner, but cried, “Duke, it cannot be true about Lady Jane!” before he had eaten his soup. This lady treated the subject lightly, which was more odious to him than the other way. “Oh no, it can’t be true,” she said; “we all know that they say you dragged her from church by the hair of her head, and snatched her hand away when the bridegroom was putting on the ring. Mr Coningsby was in a dreadful way about it. He said it would be such a cry at the elections; but I told him, Nonsense! the Duke is far too fine a gentleman, I said.” This was more difficult to answer than the other mode of assault. The Duke became all manner of colours as he listened. “And the elections are so near,” the lady said. “Of course the Government will not care how false it is; they will placard it on all the walls, with a picture as large as life. They will turn all the clergy against us. Of course, dear Duke, of course, to people who know you so well as I do--you need not tell _me_ that it is not true.” The Duke sat grim, and heard all this, and did not say a word. There was a flutter in the drawing-room as he came in: everybody looked at him as if he had been a wild beast. “Dragged her out by the hair of her head!” he heard whispered on every side of him, and though Mrs Coningsby still affected not to believe, the bishop’s wife contemplated him with terrible gravity. “Oh, I hope you will talk it over with the bishop,” she said. “He is so anxious about it. Lady Jane was always such a favourite. I do hope you will take the bishop’s advice. After a certain part of the service, I have always understood it was a sin to interfere.” Later in the evening he was mobbed by half-a-dozen ladies--there is no other word for it--mobbed and overwhelmed with one universal cry. Half-married! Poor Lady Jane! Dear Lady Jane! They pressed round him, each with her protestation, a soft, yet urgent babel of voices. The poor Duke escaped at last, not knowing how he got away. It seemed to his Grace that he had escaped out of a