She charged Millicent to be very careful of the Lump, and to be sure to have the kettle boiling by four o'clock so that, should she be detained till then, she would have nothing to do on her return but forthwith make the tea. Then she sallied forth.

As she came into Fleet Street she met the Honourable John Ruffin.

"Ah: so you're off to the fray," he said; and his eyes warmed to the angel vision. "Well, you certainly have looks on your side; and that is three-quarters of the woman's battle. It's rather a score for you, too, that Osterley is one of the most susceptible dukes in England.

But remember: don't be too civil to him; just bow. And then be firm--very firm."

"Yes, sir: I will," said Pollyooly very firmly indeed.

He stood considering her thoughtfully a moment; then he added:

"And I tell you what: if your prayers fail to move Osterley you might, as a last resort, try a few tears. Tears are dreadful things; and these cantankerous men can rarely stand them."

"Oh yes, sir: I will," said Pollyooly, her face growing bright with a look of perfect understanding.

He conducted her to her omnibus, put her on it, and wished her good luck.

Then he said after the bus had started:

"Don't forget the tears!"

He raised his voice in order to overcome the din of the traffic, and succeeded admirably.

CHAPTER IX

THE RELUCTANT DUKE

Tears were not at all to Pollyooly's liking. She considered them the sign of a feeble heart and softening brain. The Honourable John Ruffin had thrown quite a new light on them in suggesting that they could be used as a weapon; and she considered this use of them most of the way to Ricksborough House.

She reached it soon after half-past two. She found its gloomy nineteenth-century facade, black with the s.m.u.ts of ninety years, a little daunting, and mounted its broad steps in some trepidation. But she rang the bell hard and knocked firmly.

Lucas, the butler of the duke, himself opened the door. At the sight of Pollyooly he started back; for the moment he thought that his lost young mistress stood before him.

Pollyooly stepped across the threshold, and said firmly:

"I want to see the Duke of Osterley, please."

The words showed Lucas his mistake; he perceived that before him stood not his mistress, but that young red Deeping who had once made a manifestly genuine offer to bite him; and he hesitated.

"It's very important. Please tell him that Miss Bride wants to see him," said Pollyooly.

"Um--er--come this way, miss. I'll see if his grace will see you,"

said Lucas in a doubtful voice.

He would have liked to refuse to let her into the house; but he was doubtful about her social standing. Therefore he took her to the nearest drawing-room, said that he would inform his grace, and betook himself to his master in the smoking-room, wearing a perturbed air, for the duke had as complete a vocabulary as any n.o.bleman in England, and he might easily take it ill that this formidable red Deeping had not been refused admission to his house.

"If you please, your Grace, there's a young lady--leastways a little girl of the name of Bride--wants to see your Grace," said Lucas. "It's the little girl you brought home as turned out not to be Lady Marion."

"What the deuce did you let her in for?" said the duke on the instant; and he frowned at him.

"She said it was very important, your Grace," said Lucas in an unhappy tone.

The duke continued to frown, considering: Pollyooly might have brought word of his missing daughter; and he would by no means let slip an opportunity of getting information about her. On the other hand he might be about to be called upon to pay more for his kidnapping exploit. He had, however, just lunched ducally; and he was in a vainglorious mood, ready to face anything female.

At last he said bitterly:

"I seem to have every jacka.s.s in London in my service. Bring her here."

Lucas gloomily announced the readiness of the duke to receive her to Pollyooly. She followed him eagerly and came into the smoking-room with a brave air, though she was not feeling as brave as she looked.

The duke stood on the hearthrug and glowered at her.

She did not hesitate; she gazed at his unamiable face with limpid eyes and said tranquilly:

"How do you do, your Grace?"

The duke grunted; then grew articulate, and said:

"What do you want?"

Pollyooly sat down deliberately in one of the big easy chairs facing him, and answered:

"If you please, your Grace, I came to see you about an orphan."

"An orphan?" said the duke a little less grumpily. He was somewhat impressed by the angel face of his visitor. During her last, compulsory visit it had been so much more red Deeping than angel. Also her costume so amber and so expensive impressed him.

"Yes: her name is Millicent Saunders; and they wanted to send her to the workhouse because her mother died who used to dance at the Varolium in the second row, but of course I couldn't let them do that, could I?"

said Pollyooly in an explanatory tone.

"I don't know. What's it got to do with me?" said the duke quickly.

"Millicent is one of those orphans who wouldn't be much good working for herself, though of course she'd work hard and be very willing,"

said Pollyooly speaking very clearly in the explanatory tone, and looking at him with very earnest eyes.

"Then she'd better go to the workhouse. She'll have an idle enough time there," said the duke who was staunchly conservative in feeling.

"But she can't go to the workhouse," said Pollyooly in a deeply shocked tone.

"Why not?" said the duke.

Pollyooly looked at him very sternly, and said in a very stern voice:

"Her mother was a very respectable woman; she was in the second row of the Varolium ballet for years and years; and she always kept Millie very respectable. Besides, you can't let people go to the workhouse."

"Why can't you, if it's the proper place for them?" said the duke stubbornly, for he hated to hear the workhouse in any way disparaged, since he regarded it as a bulwark of society.

"How would you like your little girl to go to the workhouse?" said Pollyooly in a deeply reproachful tone.