My duties are grave, duchess.

Have I your permission ?" Fay bowed.
The duke, still urbane, but evidently finding the situation unduly prolonged, led the way into Fay's bedroom.
This story would never have been written if Lord John had not remained standing in the doorway.
Did Michael know he was there?
He had not so far spoken, or given any sign of his presence.
"Won't you go into my room, Lord John, and help in the capture," she said distinctly; and as she spoke she was aware that she was only just in time.
But Lord John would not go in, thanks.

Lord John preferred to advance heavily in her direction, and to sit down by her on the couch, telling her not to look so terrified, that he would take care of her.
She stared wildly at him, livid and helpless.
A door was softly opened, and was instantly followed by the furious barking of a dog.
"Go and help them," said Fay to Lord John.
But Lord John did not move.

Like all bores he was conscious of his own attractive personality.

He only settled his eyeglass more firmly in his pale eye.
"You never spoke to me all evening," he said, with jocular emphasis.
"What have I done to deserve such severity ?" In another moment the duke and the official returned, followed by Sancho, a large Bridlington terrier, still bristling and snarling at the official.
Fay called the dog to her, and held it forcibly, pretending to caress it.
"No one has gone by that way," said the _delegato_ to the duke.