the castle in time for dinner on Christmas eve, and left it on the morning after Christmas day. This was in accordance with the usual practice of his life, and the tenants, dependants, and followers of the Omnium interest were always delighted to see this manifestation of a healthy English domestic family feeling between the duke and his nephew. But the amount of intercourse on such occasions between them was generally trifling. The duke would smile as he put out his right hand to his nephew, and say,—
"Well, Plantagenet,—very busy, I suppose?"
The duke was the only living being who called him Plantagenet to his face, though there were some scores of men who talked of Planty Pal behind his back. The duke had been the only living being so to call him. Let us hope that it still was so, and that there had arisen no feminine exception, dangerous in its nature and improper in its circumstances.
"Well, Plantagenet," said the duke, on the present occasion, "very busy, I suppose?"
"Yes, indeed, duke," said Mr. Palliser. "When a man gets the harness on him he does not easily get quit of it."
The duke remembered that his nephew had made almost the same remark at his last Christmas visit.
"By-the-by," said the duke, "I want to say a word or two to you before you go."
Such a proposition on the duke's part was a great departure from his usual practice, but the nephew of course undertook to obey his uncle's behests.
"I'll see you before dinner to-morrow," said Plantagenet.
"Ah, do," said the duke. "I'll not keep you five minutes." And at six o'clock on the following afternoon the two were closeted together in the duke's private room.
"I don't suppose there is much in it," began the duke, "but people are talking about you and Lady Dumbello."
"Upon my word, people are very kind." And Mr. Palliser bethought himself of the fact,—for it certainly was a fact,—that people for a great many years had talked about his uncle and Lady Dumbello's mother-in-law.
"Yes; kind enough; are they not? You've just come from Hartlebury, I believe." Hartlebury was the Marquis of Hartletop's seat in Shropshire.
"Yes, I have. And I'm going there again in February."
