Lord Are, the powdered and primping heir to a 600-year-old title, hurtles around the dining room of his country estate, ablaze with rage and grief. He does not mind that his giddy young wife lies dead on the floor, accidentally slain by him as she prankishly impersonated a ghost. What really inflames him is that the breakfast toast has gone cold. In a ranting fury he rings for a servant and, almost as an afterthought, gulls the hapless lackey into believing himself responsible for the killing. Then, confident of his escape and frugal to the last, Lord Are points to the...
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