Sunday cutaway, old and rather shining it was true, but black and braided, with every crease removed by Eliza's iron; a pair of light gray trousers, superbly checked; a white choker tie and a horse-shoe pin; while to crown all, a massive gold albert, a recent gift from Mary, was slung across a noble expanse of broadcloth waistcoat.
"Good morning, Sergeant Kelly," said a musical voice, as soon as the visitor was announced. The Duke in the depths of his invalid chair looked at him from under the brows of a satyr. "Excuse my rising. I'm a bit below the weather, as you see."
Joe, secretly prepared for anything in the matter of his reception, was impressed most favorably by such a greeting. Somehow the note of cordiality was so exactly that of one man of the world to another, that Joe was conscious of a subtle feeling of flattery. He was invited to sit, and he sat on the extreme verge of a Sheraton masterpiece, pensively twisting between his hands a brand-new bowler hat purchased that morning en route to Bridport House.
"Sergeant Kelly," said the Duke, speaking with a directness that Joe admired, "I liked your letter. It was that of a sensible man."
"Good of your Grace to say so," said Joe, a nice mingling of dignity and deference.
"I agree with you that the matter is extremely vexatious."
Joe took a long breath. "It's haggeravating, sir," said he.
"Quite so," said his Grace, with a whimsical smile. "But as a matter of curiosity, may I ask what had led you to that conclusion?"
