Sanderson, she was also the daughter of a police constable.
The Duke was apt to plume himself that his instinct for diplomacy amounted to second nature. But, he ruefully reflected, his powers in this direction were likely to be tested to the full. His task seemed to bristle with difficulties. Bridport House was no place for a young woman of this kind, but it was not going to be an easy matter to tell her that in just so many words. The best he had to hope for was that she would prove a person of common sense.
When at five minutes past the hour Miss Lawrence was announced, for one reason or another, the Duke was in a state of inconvenient curiosity. And as if the mere circumstances of the case did not themselves suffice, a chain of odd and queer reflections chose to assail his mind at the very moment of her appearance.
It was terribly inconvenient for his Grace to rise from his chair, mainly for the reason that one swollen, snow-*booted foot reclined at ease on another. But with an effort that wrung him with pain he contrived to stand up.
"Please don't move," said a voice deep, clear, and musical, while he was still in the act of rising. "Oh, don't—please!"
But without making any immediate reply the Duke poised himself as well as he could on one foot, more or less in the manner of an emu, and bowed rather grimly. The dignity of the whole proceeding was perhaps slightly over-emphasized, it was almost as if he intended to overawe his visitor with the note of the grand seigneur.
Whether this was the case or not the bow was returned; and slight as it was, it had a dignity that matched
