Under the calm and steady beam of the monocle, Maud weakened. “What are you famous for?” she asked, more amenably. “Because there are two of us to the divided title. Bally hard for an American to understand, I’m afraid. It begins back in the early days of the title, quite before Columbus landed the Puritans at Bunker Hill, you know.” “Columbus wasn’t a Puritan, dear,” corrected Darcy. “No? Nevah heard anything against the man’s morals, that I can recall.” “Never mind Columbus,” said the interested Helen. “Do tell us about the Veyzes.” “Right-o! Two brothers were born—twins, d’ you see? There was some natural confusion. Which was the heir—born first, you know? Nobody could tell. The King was stayin’ at Veyze Holdings then for the shootin’; very famous shootin’. The family referred it to him. Would he play the part of Solomon and decide? His Majesty graciously acceded to the request. He decreed that the title should thenceforth be a dual one. It’s remained so ever since. We don’t produce twins any more, but the two eldest sons of the line inherit title and property jointly, and each carries two swords at court. There’s Sir Montrose and Sir Montrose II. I’m II.” [Illustration: “There are two of us to the divided title”] “How romantic!” breathed Helen. “Rah-ther. We pride ourselves on that sort of thing, we Veyzes.” As the glory of his performance developed before her enraptured mind, the Hymn of Hate died out within Darcy, to be succeeded by a Pæan of Praise. “And now,” said she severely, “I should think you girls might have the decency to apologize to Sir Montrose.” “Rah-ther!” confirmed her ally. “I’m awfully sorry,” said Helen contritely. “I’ll apologize when I’m proved wrong,” returned Mrs. Lee dubiously. “We’ll know soon enough.” “Yes? And how?” “Mr. Wood is trying to get the British Embassy on long-distance’phone.” “My respects to Lord Wyncombe,” said the undisturbed suspect. “But why go to so much trouble? Surely there’s a simpler way.” “How?” asked Darcy, wondering what fresh audacity was developing in that fertile brain. “Don’t you have—er—public libraries in your American towns?” “Certainly.” “Then perhaps there is one at Center Harbor.” “There is,” answered Helen, so promptly that Darcy shot a glance of suspicion at her. “What more easy than to drive over there at once,” observed the suspect blandly, “and consult their Burke.” “Burke’s Peerage, you mean?” said Darcy. “Perhaps they haven’t one.” “They haven’t,” blurted Maud, and stopped, reddening. “Apparently you’ve tried,” remarked Darcy witheringly. “We appreciate your interest.” But Sir Montrose II was painfully shocked. “Not got a Burke!” he exclaimed. “Unbelievable! What a country! I’ll send for one, at once.” Impressed, despite herself, Maud Lee hesitated, looking from Darcy to her fiancé.