Grace's Instructions, and trust my Connduct will meet with Yr. Grace's Approvall.
Very Obed'tly, M. HARPER."
Tracy confirmed the engagement and straightway dispatched the man to Andover, where the head groom would undoubtedly find work for him to do. He was amused at the blind way in which the man had walked into his trap, and meditated cynically on the frailty of human nature which will always follow the great god Mammon.
Not three days later came another letter, this time from Mr. Beauleigh, addressed to him at White's, under the name of Sir Hugh Grandison. It asked for the man Harper's character.
His Grace of Andover answered it in the library of his own home, and smiled sarcastically as he wrote Harper down "exceeding honest and trustworthy, as I have always found."
He was in the middle of the letter when the door was unceremoniously pushed open and Andrew lounged into the room.
His Grace looked up frowning. Not a whit dismayed by the coolness of his reception, his brother kicked the door to and lowered his long limbs into a chair.
"May I ask to what I owe the honour of this intrusion?" smiled Tracy dangerously.
"Richard," was the cheerful reply, "Richard."
"As I am not interested in either him or his affairs-"
"How truly amiable you are to-day! But I think you'll be interested in this, 'tis so vastly mysterious."
"Indeed? What is the matter?"
"Just what I want to know!"
Tracy sighed wearily.
"Pray come to the point, Andrew-if point there be. I have no time to waste."
"Lord! Busy? Working? God ha' mercy!" The young rake stretched his legs out before him and cast his eyes down their shapeliness. Then he stiffened and sat up, staring at one white-stockinged ankle.
"Now, damn and curse it! where did that come from?" he expostulated mildly.
"Where did what come from?"
"That great splash of mud on my leg. Brand new on this morning, and I've scarce set my nose without doors. Damn it, I say! A brand new-"
"Leg?"
"Hey? What's that you say?"
"Nought. When you have quite finished your eulogy, perhaps you would consent to tell me your errand?"
"Oh, ay!-but twenty shillings the pair! Think of it! . . . Well, the point-there is one, you see-is this: it is Richard's desire that you honour him with your presence at Wyncham on Friday week, at three in the afternoon exactly. To which effect he sends you this." He tossed a letter on to the desk. "You are like to have the felicity of meeting me there."
Tracy ripped open the packet and spread the single sheet on the desk before him. He read it through very deliberately, turned it over, as if in search of more, re-read it, folded it, and dropped it into the wastebasket at his side. He then picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink again.