“What, clubs and temperance, that kind of thing?  Can you take any real interest in the people?”

Delafield hesitated.

“Well, yes,” he said, at last, as though he grudged the admission.  “There’s nothing else to take an interest in, is there?  By-the-way”—­he jumped up—­“I think I’ll bid you good-night, for I’ve got to go down to-morrow in a hurry.  I must be off by the first train in the morning.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, it’s only a wretched old man—­that two beasts of women have put into the workhouse infirmary against his will.  I only heard it to-night.  I must go and get him out.”

He looked round for his gloves and stick.

“Why shouldn’t he be there?”

“Because it’s an infernal shame!” said the other, shortly.  “He’s an old laborer who’d saved quite a lot of money.  He kept it in his cottage, and the other day it was all stolen by a tramp.  He has lived with these two women—­his sister-in-law and her daughter—­for years and years.  As long as he had money to leave, nothing was too good for him.  The shock half killed him, and now that he’s a pauper these two harpies will have nothing to say to nursing him and looking after him.  He told me the other day he thought they’d force him into the infirmary.  I didn’t believe it.  But while I’ve been away they’ve gone and done it.”

“Well, what’ll you do now?”

“Get him out.”

“And then?”

Delafield hesitated.  “Well, then, I suppose, he can come to my place till I can find some decent woman to put him with.”

Sir Wilfrid rose.

“I think I’ll run down and see you some day.  Will there be paupers in all the bedrooms?”

Delafield grinned.

“You’ll find a rattling good cook and a jolly snug little place, I can tell you.  Do come.  But I shall see you again soon.  I must be up next week, and very likely I shall be at Lady Henry’s on Wednesday.”

“All right.  I shall see her on Sunday, so I can report.”

“Not before Sunday?” Delafield paused.  His clear blue eyes looked down, dissatisfied, upon Sir Wilfrid.

“Impossible before.  I have all sorts of official people to see to-morrow and Saturday.  And, Jacob, keep the Duchess quiet.  She may have to give up Mademoiselle Julie for her bazaar.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“By-the-way, is that little person happy?” said Sir Wilfrid, as he opened the door to his departing guest.  “When I left England she was only just married.”

“Oh yes, she’s happy enough, though Crowborough’s rather an ass.”

“How—­particularly?”

Delafield smiled.

“Well, he’s rather a sticky sort of person.  He thinks there’s something particularly interesting in dukes, which makes him a bore.”

“Take care, Jacob!  Who knows that you won’t be a duke yourself some day?”

“What do you mean?” The young man glowered almost fiercely upon his old friend.