Somewhat in a dream, he heard the glorious Miss De Camp expound her melodious grievances to a baneful chorus of banditti, and withdraw into a cavern, the hostage of their most _basso-profundo_ cupidity. He was, indeed, forming his plans the while; and when the curtain fell on the first act, he made his way determinedly to a certain box--the prominent occupants of which had had, for the last half-hour, his particular attention--fully resolved to end one way or the other his period of suspense. He tapped on the baize door, and was bidden gruffly by the nobleman to enter--which he did. My lord and Sir David were risen at the moment--the former to fetch a bag of oranges out of his laced surtout--and the baronet came at his friend with a genial greeting and his finest London manner. “Where have you been?” quoth he. “My Lord Dunlone would insist to honour us with his invitation, or I would have acquainted you of our number, Tuke.” “Tuke!” exclaimed the viscount. He stood staring, with his hand in the pocket. “At your service, sir,” said the other gravely. Miss Angela was turned, her face observant and a little flushed. “My name,” said Mr. Tuke quickly, seeing the cub’s perplexity, “can be a matter of little importance in your lordship’s recollection. But we have been known to one another in the past, as you will doubtless remember.” “Oh! very well, sir. ’Tis no concern of mine, as you observe,” said the lord; “and it is not every title that is worth the preserving. We came to a settlement at our last meeting, I believe, and I owe you small thanks for the terms of it; but I’m cursed if I knew the sale of your good name was included in the bargain.” “Nor was it,” said Mr. Tuke. He took no offence at the other’s insolence; but was quite urbane and good-humoured in the teeth of it. He even gave the nobleman an ironical bow, as, withdrawing his hand empty from the pocket, that fine creature seized Sir David’s arm, and walked the astounded little man out of the box. No sooner were they vanished, than the intruder addressed himself to Miss Royston with the most perfect calmness and respect. “I return,” said he, “to ‘Delsrop’ to-morrow.” She vouchsafed him a lifted eyebrow of surprise. “So soon?” said she. “Then your business is concluded--or postponed?” “It is concluded.” “To your satisfaction, I trust?” “Assuredly. I am satisfied I came on a fool’s errand.” “Indeed?” She trifled with her fan. Suddenly she leaned back in the shadow of the curtains and looked up at him. “Mr. Tuke,” she said--“were you ever my lord’s tailor?” He could only stare his astonishment. “Or his tool or his creature in any way?” she said, gathering vehemence with speech. “Oh, sir! why should you wonder? And whither were his innuendoes directed, and what the reason that he disavowed your claim of friendship?” “Surely he did not!” “Not--not? And you pass under an assumed name. Will you deny it?” “No, madam.”