the poles date from the Conquest—well, in pulling the old window trappings about, the men found a long jewelled hair-pin, a tiny sword, the hilt set in diamonds and with the point broken off.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Sir Perrott.

“They found this in the cornice?” de Daun asked intently. It was important for him to get the story correctly.

“Somewhere stuck away in the curtains or behind the shutter; anyhow, hidden by the window.”

“And who found it? A workman, eh?”

“One of the Duke’s men.”

“And what is to be the upshot?” Mrs. Hargrave’s turn of mind was practical and anticipatory.

“Well, the whole thing will come out,” Greetland asserted.

“No? Be made public?” Lady Rotherfield was dead against the publicity of to-day. A scandal to which the mob had access lost all its piquancy and was not worth discussing. The world was becoming less interesting every hour.

[28]“To-morrow,” Greetland confidently affirmed, “the man in the street will know as much of the affair as we do.”

[28]

Lady Rotherfield gave a shrug of despair. The world where the man in the street is as well posted as the Duchess in the Square was scarcely worth living in.

“Then the Duke can’t hush it up this time, eh?” de Daun demanded, showing his malicious teeth.

“No,” Greetland purred on. “He is in an awful way about it, and the Duchess is having a bad time.”

“Poor woman!” cried Mrs. Hargrave with cynical sympathy.

“Well, it is all her fault, so Lady Helen says,” the Society Newsman went on, as suavely as though he were referring to no greater tragedy than a failure on the Matrimonial Exchange. “The dear Duchess would dismiss one of her carriage footmen because he was three-quarters of an inch shorter than his fellow. Lady Helen’s maid tells her that the man wore cork wedges in his boots till he could hardly keep his balance, and was quite willing to meet her views and obliging, but the other day he had to go out unexpectedly, and in his hurry forgot the corks; the Duchess’s eagle eye caught the 

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