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 known that he was a Duke. Duke number three was the little man who looked straight ahead, and whom the churning of the sea had caused to desert his Duchess on the Dover-Calais boat. He was a perfectly harmless little man, quite affable, but he hadn't much of a mind above foreign postage-stamps, which he always brought into the conversation somewhat in the manner of Mr. Dick and poor King Charles's head. Duke and Duchess number four might really just as well have not been Duke and Duchess at all for all the use they made of it. They always sat about in quiet corners, and looked poor and ill-fed, and whenever they were pointed out to people, people always cried 'What!' in a tone of shocked surprise. It must be dreadfully trying to be 'your Graces' when you look so much more like Mr. and Mrs. Brown of Notting Hill. It must be very nice to be able to give your names as the Duke and Duchess, and to hear them rolled out on the tongue of the footman with the beautiful calves as he throws back the folding-doors and announces you, and to hear the pause of expectation in the conversation, but what about getting inside when you know that nobody would ever have believed it if the footman hadn't said so? The Duchess who belonged to Duke number one was about the most perfectly fascinating woman I have ever seen. She was tall and divinely fair, and sweet and gracious, and you fell in love with her at first sight. You only had to see her, and you couldn't possibly be a Radical or a Socialist for quite a long time after. The daughter of one Duke and