“Oh, as to that, you may be very sure she won’t stay here unless you’re very particularly nice to her.  There’ll be plenty of people glad—­enchanted—­to have her!  I don’t care about that, but what I do want is”—­the Duchess looked up with calm audacity—­“that you should find her a house.”

The Duke paused in his walk and surveyed his wife with amazement.

“Evelyn, are you quite mad?”

“Not in the least.  You have more houses than you know what to do with, and a great deal more money than anybody in the world ought to have.  If they ever do set up the guillotine at Hyde Park Corner, we shall be among the first—­we ought to be!”

“What is the good of talking nonsense like this, Evelyn?” said the Duke, once more consulting his watch.  “Let’s go back to the subject of my letter to Lady Henry.”

“It’s most excellent sense!” cried the Duchess, springing up.  “You have more houses than you know what to do with; and you have one house in particular—­that little place at the back of Cureton Street where Cousin Mary Leicester lived so long—­which is in your hands still, I know, for you told me so last week—­which is vacant and furnished—­Cousin Mary left you the furniture, as if we hadn’t got enough!—­and it would be the very thing for Julie, if only you’d lend it to her till she can turn round.”

The Duchess was now standing up, confronting her lord, her hands grasping the chair behind her, her small form alive with eagerness and the feminine determination to get her own way, by fair means or foul.

“Cureton Street!” said the Duke, almost at the end of his tether.  “And how do you propose that this young woman is to live—­in Cureton Street, or anywhere else?”

“She means to write,” said the Duchess, shortly.  “Dr. Meredith has promised her work.”

“Sheer lunacy!  In six months time you’d have to step in and pay all her bills.”

“I should like to see anybody dare to propose to Julie to pay her bills!” cried the Duchess, with scorn.  “You see, the great pity is, Freddie, that you don’t know anything at all about her.  But that house—­wasn’t it made out of a stable?  It has got six rooms, I know—­three bedrooms up-stairs, and two sitting-rooms and a kitchen below.  With one good maid and a boy Julie could be perfectly comfortable.  She would earn four hundred pounds—­Dr. Meredith has promised her—­she has one hundred pounds a year of her own.  She would pay no rent, of course.  She would have just enough to live on, poor, dear thing!  And she would be able to gather her old friends round her when she wanted them.  A cup of tea and her delightful conversation—­that’s all they’d ever want.”