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 interested, but impassive, butler to send Mrs. Hutton to him at once, and into the dining-room.

"Now what do you mean by this cock-and-bull story?" he said with all the truculence he could muster.

"It isn't a cock-and-bull story—it isn't really. It's the literal truth. She isn't Marion at all. She's Mary Bride—John Ruffin's housekeeper. She has been for months," said Ronald.

"Yes; that's who I am; and I've got a little brother called Roger—so there!" said Pollyooly, with a truculence that more than matched the duke's.

"Yes; she has. I've seen him," said Ronald. "I went to the Temple to see John Ruffin, and I found her there; and she's so like Marion I asked her to come out with me. And she's been on the stage, which Marion couldn't have done, because she's too much of a duffer—dancing with the Esmeralda at the Varolium. Hundreds of people can tell you so."

The duke was staggered. The attitude and firmness of the two children shook his conviction that his daughter Marion, whom after all he only knew by sight, was before him.

Then Mrs. Hutton bustled into the room, in a