CHAPTER XVIII

_A Problem for the Duke_

Poor Nocastle! His Grace seems to have a problem to solve that is beyond his intellectuality. Here stands Ethel Bumpschus, with spectacles and ten millions; there Pearl Veal, beautiful, with but four. Which will he choose? And surely he has only to choose, for he is a peer of England. He is only five feet four, partially bald, pale, fuzzy mustache upside down, but then, besides, he is Charles John Peter Michael Henry Edwin Reginald Clarence Angus Joseph Fitznit, Duke of Nocastle, Marquis of Bumpshire, Earl of Duckham, Baron Llfygntynllan, Baron McGonigle in Ireland, etc. He has been here nearly two weeks now, turning the Bumpschus house upside down, and yet his engagement to its heiress has not been announced. _Town Twaddle_ cruelly reported that there had been a hitch over the settlements, that his solicitor had been cabled for, and that pending the arrival of Sir Charles Wigge no announcements would be made. But I know better. The hitch came that afternoon at the Bumpschuses when the noble eyes lighted on Pearl Veal, as she stood beside Mrs. Radigan, smiling. Since then his Grace has haunted the Radigan house, and when he is not loafing in the shadow of its mistress, he is sitting on a bench in the Park Mall, seeking an inspiration in the bust of Robert Burns. Time is flying. He will have to decide soon, for he has bought a brace of bull pups and the fancier is standing all day in the Bumpschus hall, respectfully waiting for his money.

My position is a hard one. Were Pearl the only one to be coped with, there would be no doubt of the future, but with a social Oyama like Mrs. Radigan opposing you, there can be little hope. Mrs. Radigan is very frank. She got me in a corner the other day and proceeded to explain to me why the engagement should be broken at once. Pearl's happiness for life was at stake, she said, and surely I would sacrifice myself for her. But is it happiness? said I. She told me that I was a child. Pearl would be a duchess, the mistress of four castles; she would take precedence over Clarissa Bumpschus, who had married the Duke of Nothingham, and over Evangeline Very, who was to wed the Earl of Less; she could snub Ethel Bumpschus, who had always been a snob, anyway; and the Japanese war would be forgotten while the wedding was under way. Was this not happiness for any girl? As for me, she promised me that I should be best man, and surely it would give me more distinction to be best man for a duke than to be the groom myself.

I admitted that the prospect was dazzling all around, but asked about the Duke's debts, which I had heard ran up close to a million, not counting the bull pups, and would eat a large hole in Pearl's pocket-book. Mrs. Radigan laughed. Trust her for that, she said. The Bumpschuses had settled Nothingham's debts for ten cents on the dollar, and she was sure that $500,000 would mend Nocastle's roofs and satisfy his creditors. She appealed to my sense of honor. Was it right for me to expect Pearl to marry a plain American real-estate agent when she could have at her call one of the greatest men in England? It was selfish of me, I admitted. Then, weary of it all, in rather hopeless fashion, I said that we had best leave it all to Pearl.

Mrs. Radigan was triumphant. She seemed to think the last obstacle to a noble brother-in-law removed. She said that I was a dear, unselfish boy, and all that. She could now go on with her plans, and would have the wedding right after Lent at St. Edward's. Just then Pearl came in, all aglow from a forty-mile spin in her car with Marian Speechless, and when she had emerged from her furs she sank into a chair and called for tea and cigarettes.

I gave her a light, and when she was smoking contentedly, Mrs. Radigan said: "It's all settled." Then she explained that I was willing to retire in favor of his Grace.

Pearl just smiled and smoked--that inscrutable smile of hers.

"Well?" said Mrs. Radigan sharply.

"Well?" said Pearl, blowing rings.

"The engagement's off," said Mrs. Radigan.

"Which one?" said Pearl smiling.

"The present one," said Mrs. Radigan sharply.

"Why?" said Pearl.

"Because I think you should marry the Duke," said Mrs. Radigan.

"Indeed?" said Pearl.

"You would be happier with a duke," said Mrs. Radigan firmly.

"You think so?" said Pearl.

"There is no woman living that would not jump at a duke," said Mrs. Radigan. "You will be the envy of every girl in town."

Pearl smiled and smoked--smoked inscrutably.

"Well?" said Mrs. Radigan.

"We will walk down Madison Avenue," said Pearl, rising, and turning her lustrous eyes to me.

Her conduct has puzzled me greatly. It seemed like prolonging the torture before the end. For when it comes to a choice between a duke and a real-estate agent, there can be but one answer. It only remains for his Grace to make up that feeble mind of his, and my day-dream will be over. Now I am enjoying it as best I can.

As we strolled down Madison that afternoon, it seemed to me that it would likely be our last appearance together on the avenue of sentiment. We were silent. My mood was too despairing for silly prattle, and Pearl seldom speaks, and then in hardly more than monosyllables. Once I thought I would end it all there, and so let my tongue run away with me for a moment. I think I referred to the duke in ungentlemanly language. Her answer was a smile more inscrutable than ever.

That night the Duke dined with us to meet the local nobility. Of course it was informal, being Lent, and Mrs. Radigan being religious, so the dinner was set for 7.30 in accordance with the church ritual, but no one appeared until after 8. Of course his Grace took Mrs. Radigan in, and with her usual tact she had fixed Ethel Bumpschus at his right, with Pearl across the table, so the contrasts were very sharp. Artfully, too, she had exiled me to the other end, between the Countess Poglioso Spinnigini and Mrs. Bobbie Q. Williegilt. Mrs. Radigan was in high feather, with a noble to the right of her, a noble to the left of her, and champagne in front of her. Prince Cosmospopolis of Greece is a very delightful man, and as he has been in this country a long while as agent of a Sicilian olive house, he speaks English very well, and so kept the attention of Pearl Veal through the whole dinner, as Count Poglioso Spinnigini on her other hand early gave up trying to make himself understood and found consolation in his plate and glasses. Clever Mrs. Radigan! The Duke was evidently much worried by the princely olive agent's attentions to his hostess's beautiful sister. Occasionally he would turn his eyes from her to venture that something was "jolly," but for the most part he was silently gazing over the board. Once he got his courage up and tried to break up Prince Cosmospopolis's tête-à-tête by giving a loud "haw," and then: "I say, Miss Cutlet."

Naturally, there was a hush. Then everyone began talking as loud as possible, and the desperate Duke absently drained Mrs. Radigan's champagne glass to the bottom. Pearl looked my way, and I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

Miss Bumpschus was triumphant. I could see that in her well-bred laugh. Poor young woman! She did not realize for what purpose Mrs. Radigan had been engaging her across the Duke in a long dissertation on the needs of the aged ticket-choppers. She did not know that in me a new champion had arisen in her cause. The idea of joining forces with her came to me by a sudden thought, and quick as the women had gone, and we were in the smoking-room, I got his Grace off in one corner. We are very good friends, for I have put him up at one or two clubs, besides showing him the sights of the town. Glorious were the colors in which I painted the plain Ethel. She had ten millions now in her own name, and when old Bumpschus died there was another ten coming. Better still, old Bumpschus had heart disease, and I had information that he was likely to drop off at any time. The Duke smoked up a cigarette in a minute and a half, and his lips moved as though he were working a problem in mental arithmetic. Then I intimated that Miss Veal's money was rather precariously invested, that with the present Stock Exchange quotations her fortune varied daily from one to two millions. His Grace seemed much affected.

"She's a jolly girl--a jolly, lovely girl," he said, as we were returning to the drawing-room.

"Miss Veal?" said I nonchalantly.

"She's jolly, too," he said.

But when he sat down on the sofa beside Miss Bumpschus and began to count the lights in the chandelier, I knew of whom he was thinking. A moment there only, and his gaze fell on Pearl, looking up into the face of the gallant Cosmospopolis. She glanced his way and smiled lustrously. Ethel Bumpschus was forgotten, deserted. His Grace shot across the room and secured the prized vacant place before the Prince was aware of the danger.

"Jolly evening," cried the Duke; "awfully jolly!"

"It is delightful that your Royal Highness cares for our simple American ways," said Mrs. Radigan beaming, as she sat shuffling the cards for a table of bridge.