Where is the telegram ?" "There's no telegraph been yet, your Grace;" said the gray man-servant, who looked as though he had been up several nights instead of one.
"Oh!" said the Duke with a change of voice.

He was not given to bullying his servants, and always regretted being hasty with them, but his conviction had been strong that the message ought to have come in the night.
Having spent the day previous in the office, he felt in duty bound not to relinquish his post until the Countess's doubts were set at rest.

So he got into a cab; for, like many foreigners, he hated the Elevated Road, and was driven down town to the Bowling-Green.
It rained heavily all the morning, and the Duke, who, as may be imagined, was not generally given to spending his days in steamboat offices, was wonderfully and horribly bored.

He smoked and kicked the chairs and read his novel, and was generally extremely uneasy, so that the clerks began to find him a nuisance, not having any idea that he was a real living swell.

And still it rained, and the newspaper vendors looked in, all drizzly and wet, and the gay feathers of New York business seemed draggled.
Suddenly--it might have been at two o'clock--there was a stir in the office, a rattling of feet on the board floor, and a sort of general revival.
"She's in sight," a clerk called out to the Duke.