"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably.

The duke looked at her perplexedly. It seemed to him that she was always

leaving him in the middle of things. Preparing himself for rough roads, he

would suddenly find the going smooth. He was never swift enough mentally

to follow these flying transitions from enmity to amity. In the present

instance, how was he to know that his tigress had found in the man below

something to play with?

"You once did me an ill turn," came up the tube. "I desire that you make

some reparation."

"Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a long time to find out that I have

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injured you," she mocked.

There was no reply to this; so she was determined to stir the fire a

little.

"And I advise you to be careful what you say; the duke is a very jealous

man."

That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.

"I do not care a hang if he is."

The duke coughed loudly close to the tube.

Silence.

"The least you can do, Madame, is to give me her address."

"Her address!" repeated the duke relievedly. He had had certain grave

doubts, but these now took wing. Old flames were not in the habit of

asking, nay, demanding, other women's addresses.

"I am speaking to Madame, your Highness," came sharply.

"We do not speak off the stage," said the singer, pushing the duke aside.

"I should like to make that young man's acquaintance," whispered the

duke.

She warned him to be silent.

Came the voice again: "Will you give me her address, please? Your

messenger gave me your address, inferring that you wished to see me."

"I?" There was no impeaching her astonishment.

"Yes, Madame."

"My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are the last man in all the wide world I wish

to see. And I do not quite like the way you are making your request. His

highness does not either."

"Send him down!"

"That is true."

"What is?"

"I remember. You are very strong and much given to fighting."

The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably. Here was something he

could understand. He was a fighting man himself. Where was this going to

end, and what was it all about?

"Do you not think, Madame, that you owe me something?"

"No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. Courtlandt; think well."




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