The Great Impersonation · Chapter 4 (2/2)

Dominey had risen to his feet a moment previously and now extended his hand. The Duchess, who was a tall, graceful woman, with masses of fair hair only faintly interspersed with grey, very fine brown eyes, the complexion of a girl, and, to quite her own confession, the manners of a kitchen maid, stared at him for a moment without any response.

“Sir Everard Dominey?” she repeated. “Everard? Ridiculous!”

Dominey’s extended hand was at once withdrawn, and the tentative smile faded from his lips. The lawyer plunged into the breach.

“I can assure your Grace,” he insisted earnestly, “that there is no doubt whatever about Sir Everard’s identity. He only returned from Africa during the last few days.”

The Duchess’s incredulity remained, wholly good-natured but ministered to by her natural obstinacy.

“I simply cannot bring myself to believe it,” she declared. “Come, I’ll challenge you. When did we meet last?”

“At Worcester House,” was the prompt reply. “I came to say goodbye to you.”

The Duchess was a little staggered. Her eyes softened, a faint smile played at the corners of her lips. She was suddenly a very attractive looking woman.

“You came to say goodbye,” she repeated, “and?”

“I am to take that as a challenge?” Dominey asked, standing very upright and looking her in the eyes.

“As you will.”

“You were a little kinder to me,” he continued, “than you are today. You gave me⁠—this,” he added, drawing a small picture from his pocketbook, “and you permitted⁠—”

“For heaven’s sake, put that thing away,” she cried, “and don’t say another word! There’s my grownup nephew, St. Omar, paying his bill almost within earshot. Come and see me at half-past three this afternoon, and don’t be a minute late. And, St. Omar,” she went on, turning to the young man who stood now by her side, “this is a connection of yours⁠—Sir Everard Dominey. He is a terrible person, but do shake hands with him and come along. I am half an hour late for my dressmaker already.”

Lord St. Omar chuckled vaguely, then shook hands with his newfound relative, nodded affably to the lawyer and followed his aunt out of the room. Mangan’s expression was beatific.

“Sir Everard,” he exclaimed, “God bless you! If ever a woman got what she deserved! I’ve seen a duchess blush⁠—first time in my life!”