Then over the curled and pomaded heads of her court, she saw the Duke and her heart missed a beat. His blue eyes were as mocking as ever and his dress as exquisite. His fair hair was very short but teased into some semblance of a Brutus crop and several of the ladies in the nearby boxes were staring at him in open admiration.

“Gervase,” whispered Alice, but he raised a finger to his lips and she gave a little nod and turned her attention back to her admirers.

The Duke studied her court through his quizzing glass.

Now which of these men could be the lucky Mr. Funk? All were in their twenties and showed all the hallmarks of fashion and high living. He recognized three of them from previous social engagements and after an effort of memory, recalled their names. The fourth, then, must be Mr. Funk. He was a tall, elegant young man with an imposing military mustache and sideburns. Not so bad, admitted the Duke reluctantly. Not bad at all.

Miss Fadden had watched the silent exchange between the Duke and Alice and she wondered about it. There was an atmosphere between the two, mused the old lady, more like that between lovers than between uncle and niece—but the French were an odd race! It was a pity he was her uncle, reflected Miss Fadden. The companion eyed the “uncle’s” blazing jewels. A small fortune there. Surely Alice did not have to marry Mr. Funk. But Alice had said she had to and Alice should know.

Miss Fadden sometimes had her own ideas about this strange relative who only appeared after dark but even to herself, they seemed so wild, so gothic, that she shook her head and dismissed them from her mind.

And what would Uncle Gervase make of Alice’s obese and vulgar fiancé? Alice’s admirers had gone and the Duke had pulled up a chair close to Alice. Miss Fadden decided to listen to their conversation. There was some mystery about this pair and she was anxious to solve it. Miss Fadden felt that if she could find the answer to the mystery, then she would be able to prevent Alice, of whom she had grown very fond, from throwing herself away on a City merchant.

“I think Mr. Funk will do very well,” whispered the Duke to Alice as the curtain rose.

“You have seen him?” exclaimed Alice.

“Was not he that tall military-looking young man who was here a moment ago?”

“No. That was Sir Angus Baxter.”

“Then where is Mr. Funk?”

“At home, I believe,” said Alice slowly.

“You do not sound certain.”

“I don’t know. I think he is indisposed. He sent me a most odd note,” said Alice crossly. “My dear sir, I have not seen you in this age and all you can do is ask me about Mr. Funk!”