till now, his ambition had never known defeat, particularly when inflamed by a worthy object.
According to biographies of the People's Champion, portrait on cover, price one shilling net, which flooded the bookstalls of his adopted country, his life had been a fine expression of the deep spiritual truth, "God helps those who help themselves." His career had been truly remarkable, yet in the opinion of qualified judges it was only just beginning. In the person of Sir Dugald Maclean, Democracy was knocking at the gate with a vengeance. Its keepers must be up and doing lest Demos ravish the citadel within and get clear away with the pictures, the heirlooms and the gold plate.
"She must be out of her mind," declared the Duke at the first announcement of the grisly tidings. Lady Wargrave went further. "She is out of her mind," trumpeted the sage of Hill Street.
There were alarums and excursions, there was a pretty todo. But Muriel had grown so Broad that she treated the matter very lightly. The ruthless Sir Dugald had tied her to the wheel of his car; he was now determined to lead her to the altar with or without the sanction of his Grace.
III
All too soon for the Duke's liking in this hour of fate, Sir Dugald arrived for his interview. At any time he was a bitter pill for his Grace to swallow; just now, in the light of present circumstances, it called for the virtue of a stoic to receive him at all.
Now these adversaries met again certain ugly memories were in their minds. But the advantage was with
