"What have you done to her?" she said. "That a runaway bride? Why, if she had been dragged to the altar and sold to a Jew broker she could hardly look worse, or more down-hearted! Sho, man, what is it?"
"She's troubled about her brother," Coke explained elaborately. "She's saved him from a wretched match, but he's taken himself off, and we don't know where to look for him."
The good-natured duchess struck him on the shoulder with her fan. "Fudge!" she cried. "Her brother? I don't believe it."
"My dear duchess," Coke remonstrated. "Half a dozen witnesses are prepared to swear to it."
"I don't believe it any the more for that!"
"Well," Sir Hervey answered, and for a moment a gleam which the duchess could not interpret, shone in his eyes, "wait six months! If she is not happy then--I mean," he added, hastily correcting himself, "if she does not look happy then, I have made a mistake."
"No, I," he answered, almost in a whisper. "I only, duchess."
She nodded, understanding somewhat; not all. "Oh!" she said; and looked him over, considering what kind of a lover she would have thought him in the old days when all men presented themselves in that capacity, and were measured by maiden eyes. She found him satisfactory. "What are your plans?" she said.
"I am going to Coke Hall to-night, to give the necessary orders. There are changes to be made."
"Quick work!" she said smiling. "Leaving her?"
"You are not killing her with kindness then, my friend?"
"In the meantime--does she stay here?" she asked; with a glance round the room that said much.
"Well, no," Sir Hervey answered slowly, his face growing hard. "I don't quite know--it has all been very sudden, you know."
"I'll take her if you like," the duchess said impulsively.
Sir Hervey's face grew pink. "You dear, good, great lady!" he said. "Will you do that?"
"For you, I will," she said, "if it will help you?"
"Will it not," he cried; and, stooping over her hand, he kissed it after the fashion of the day; but a little more warmly--we were going to say, a little more warmly than the duke would have approved.
While they talked, Mrs. Northey had left the room, to take order for "my lady's" packing; and Mr. Northey, who was dying for a word with her on the astonishing event, had followed, after murmuring an apology and an indistinct word about a carriage. Sophia was thus left _tête-à-tête_ with the one person in the room who had not approached her, or offered felicitation or compliment; but who now, after assuring herself by a hurried glance that the duchess was out of hearing, hastened to deliver her mind.