“Naturally,” he said in a low voice. “He is surely the most important thing in your life.”

Miss Fadden strained her ears. How English they both sounded. Alice’s French accent became less and less daily. At least she had not reverted to the country burr of Alice, the scullery maid, but that was something even the sharp Miss Fadden did not know to listen for.

“We cannot talk here,” Alice was saying.

“I shall see you later,” replied the Duke. “I am going to pay a call on Mr. Funk.”

“Don’t,” said Alice in loud alarm and was shushed from the neighboring boxes.

“Why not?” he mocked. “What is his direction?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Then I shall find it,” he said, rising. “Russell Square, I believe.”

Miss Fadden was determined to have a word in private with Alice’s uncle. Perhaps if he knew Alice was merely marrying for money, then he might help. As he left the box, she followed hard on his heels, murmuring an excuse to Alice. But no sooner was she in the long corridor that ran along the back of the boxes than she blinked in amazement. For there was no sign of the uncle. None whatsoever. He had completely disappeared into thin air.

Miss Fadden returned slowly to the box, thinking hard. This uncle became more mysterious by the minute.

The Duke soon found the address of Mr. Funk in Russell Square by questioning a butler who was out taking the night air. As soon as he was in range of the house, he made himself invisible and drifted quietly through the outer wall, finding himself in an over-furnished sitting room where a middle-aged portly gentleman was sitting in front of the fire, entertaining a stout middle-aged lady.

He thought himself in the presence of the fiancé’s parents and was about to melt away to go in further search of Mr. Funk when the lady spoke. And what she said stopped him short in his ghostly tracks.

“And when is the wedding to be, Mr. Funk?”

“I don’t know,” replied that gentleman heavily. “I don’t know if I shall get married, Mrs. Jeebles. Ah, me!” He sighed and mopped his forehead.

“Not get married, Mr. Funk?” exclaimed that lady. “And here’s me, your oldest friend, telling everyone you was going to marry a real Countess! Has she changed her mind?”

“Not she,” said Mr. Funk gloomily. “I have recently been put in the way of certain information that makes it seem as if I might be making a mistake.”

“But you can never cry off,” said Mrs. Jeebles.

“It will be done for me. No…” Here Mr. Funk raised a fat hand to quell the lady’s next question. “Forgive me, Mrs. Jeebles. I can say no more. I am to take the Countess driving on Friday and after that it will all be over.”