Even an unobserving man—and Colonel Robert Darcy was not that—could hardly have helped seeing that his presence was unwelcome, and that he had interrupted an important interview.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "I fear I've intruded."
The Secretary said nothing, and Miss Fitzgerald came to the rescue by declaring that she was very glad to see him, and that she had no idea he would be in Sussex so soon.
"The fact is, I particularly wanted to see you," he replied bluntly.
Thereupon Mr. Stanley did that most unpardonable thing in good society—lost his temper and gave evidence of the fact; a piece of egotism often noticeable in young men during their first years of social life, before a severe course of snubbing has taught them of how little relative importance they really are.
"Three's an impossible number for a tête-à-tête," he said stiffly, "so if you'll excuse me," and he started to leave her side.
Up to this point Belle had been in some doubt as to how she ought to act; but when the Secretarytook the initiative, it at once gave her her cue, and she was quick to save the situation.
"There are no secrets between friends," she said hastily, "and you're both friends of mine, so I shall expect you to be friends of each other's."
"This is Colonel Robert Darcy, Jimsy—we call him Bob for short," she rattled on, laughing nervously. "And now, Bob, why have you arrived so unexpectedly in Sussex?"
"I think you've forgotten to introduce me to Colonel Darcy, Miss Fitzgerald," suggested Stanley.
"Dear me, I believe I have," replied that lady, calmly. "Bob, this is Jimsy; Jimsy, this is Bob—that'll do for the present. I'll tell you the rest of his names, titles and appurtenances when I've more time and less to talk about. So now we are friends and have no secrets from each other, therefore out with yours."
Darcy laughed.
"You see, Jimsy," continued Miss Fitzgerald, turning to the Secretary, "though I'm young and ignorant, men have always come to me for advice, or, perhaps, for the use of my intuition."
"I'm sure I trust Colonel Darcy will profit by it; but even our well-established friendship gives me no right to play third party to his confidences, and as I promised Kingsland a game of pool——"
"Ah, but you mustn't go; really you mustn't," expostulated the Colonel, "or you'll make me feel I've intruded."
Stanley felt that it was not his fault if that officer did not already possess those sentiments, and was about to stand to his decision, when Miss Fitzgerald pulled him down beside her, saying:
"Don't talk nonsense, Jimsy. I'm dying to hear Bob's secrets, and he's been here five minutes already, and we haven't allowed him to get a word in edgewise."
Thus admonished, the Secretary had no choice but to be an unwilling listener.
"I'm sure I don't know why I should dignify my affairs by the name of secrets," began Darcy, with ill-attempted nonchalance, "or why I should be reticent about speaking of them, either. It's more than the Press will be in the next few days," and he laughed harshly.
"My dear Bob!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, with a horror that was meant to be assumed, but nevertheless had a touch of reality about it. "My dear Bob! I knew you were bad, but don't tell me you're as bad as all that!"
"I'm afraid so," he replied. Then turning to Stanley, continued, "I suppose you've not the misfortune to be married?"
"I'm a single man," replied the Secretary, who, under the circumstances, felt that a mere statement of fact was infinitely better than an expressed opinion.
"Then of course you can't conceive the pleasures of anticipation which the prospect of the divorce court arouses in the mind of a husband."
"I can imagine that the point of view would largely depend on his own status in the case."
"You don't mean to tell me, Bob," cried Miss Fitzgerald, "that she's been foolish enough——!"
"Oh, I'm the accused in the present indictment. But, fortunately for me, women are by nature inconsistent."
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Why? Because, having run away from my house and secured legal assistance in London to bring suit against me—well, on statutory grounds, she has, as a proof of her injuries, seen fit to take up her residence at the bachelor quarters of her Secretary of Legation."
"What! Is she there now?" cried Miss Fitzgerald, her eyes flashing, as she turned them full on Stanley.
That gentleman, who had foreseen thisdénouementfrom the first, half rose to his feet with a view of crushing his defamer, but the Colonel's next statement so staggered him that he sunk back in his seat.
"No," replied that officer, in answer to Miss Fitzgerald's question. "No. London life didn't seem to agree with them, so they've made a little expedition into Sussex together; in fact, they're both here, or hereabouts."
"What do you say?" cried Belle, quite dazed by this astounding declaration.
"Oh, it's quite true. She actually had the effrontery to write me requesting that I send her belongings to his chambers. Of course I got nosatisfaction in London, for my young man, with a discretion far beyond his years, promptly left for parts unknown. I didn't search for him, I watched her. I knew I could trust her to put me on the scent, if not to lead me to the quarry. She's quite fulfilled my expectations. When she left town my detective was on hand, followed her to Liverpool Street, watched her while she took her ticket, secured a place in another part of the same train, located her in a farmhouse on this estate, and, as I suspected, found that among the guests at the Hall was my co-respondent, Mr. Secretary Aloysius Stanley."
The speaker paused, and absolute silence reigned between them; but he did not seem to notice the tense muscles of the man or the flushed anxiety of the woman.
"Well, that's the story," he said shortly. "Not a pretty one, either, is it; but of course I shall have to see it through, and, as a first step, I must ask the assistance of you both in meeting this little cad of a diplomat. After I've settled with him, I shall leave her quite free to——"
"Stop!" cried the Secretary. "Don't say that, Colonel Darcy. Don't you dare to say it!"
"What the devil— I——" began Darcy, completely astonished at the turn affairs had taken.
"Miss Fitzgerald," continued his companion, "neglected to introduce me formally, but I will rectify that error. My name is Aloysius Stanley, and I'm the Secretary of Legation to whomyou've presumed to allude in language for which I shall demand an explanation."
"We'll settle our difficulties at some more appropriate time, sir," replied the Colonel, with repressed anger patent in every tone.
"We'll settle them here and now— I demand a retraction of what you've just said, or intimated, in regard to my relations with your wife."
"I'll give you the only satisfaction you have a right to expect, and I to demand, when and where you please."
"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, fearful of what their anger might lead to. "Pray remember that you're in the presence of a lady."
"You need have no fear," said Stanley, in reply to her request, "Ishall not forgetmyself." Then turning to Darcy, he continued:
"Did not my profession, which is essentially one of peace, prevent me from taking any notice of your absurd challenge, I should still refuse to involve myself in a matter with which I've no concern, merely because you've been enough of a cad to slander your wife in the presence of a third person."
"If I ever meet you outside!" began the Colonel, purple with rage—but the Secretary continued his remarks, oblivious of the interruption.
"There is one thing, however, that I shall do," he said. "Unless you leave this house immediately, I shall inform my hostess, who has alreadyrefused to include your name in her party, of what I know of you, and then put you out."
"Do go, Bob!" cried Belle. "Do, to please me."
"Oh, to please you," said Darcy, sulkily, "I suppose I must. But where I'm to go for a night's lodging, in this God-forsaken place, is quite a problem."
"Oh, there's a good inn just outside the Lodge gates. I know the proprietor of it," said Miss Fitzgerald.
"Perhaps you'll give me a line to him," he suggested, "as you're turning me out, and I've no luggage to insure my respectability."
"Certainly," she replied, "if you've a pencil, and will excuse the back of an old envelope."
The Colonel nodded, and she took an undirected envelope, which seemed to be carrying more than it could conveniently hold, from the pocket of her dress, and hastily scribbled a line on it with the pencil he gave her, handing them both to him nervously.
"Perhaps," suggested the Secretary coldly, who had watched this transaction with growing irritation, "it would be as well to remove the contents of your letter, Miss Fitzgerald. You should be careful to whom you entrust your correspondence."
She faced him, and looked at him steadily, with those great blue eyes of hers, while she said, with measured force and deliberation:
"I should be quite willing to trust the contents of any of my letters to Colonel Darcy's care."
The Colonel had, meantime, been nervously twisting the envelope round his fingers, and Stanley caught sight of a well-known monogram composed of the initials A. R. It was the letter he had taken from Kingsland, and restored to Mr. Riddle. How came it in Belle's hands—the seal still unbroken, and why was it given to Darcy? His suspicions, so long lulled by careful artifice, were at once aroused, and he threw the Colonel a glance, the meaning of which was not lost on the woman. Suddenly, her whole manner changing, she became nervous and excitable, once more saying to Darcy:
"Now, go, Bob; go at once, for all our sakes."
He growled a surly reply, and before the Secretary was aware of his intentions, had left the room.
Stanley stood for a moment, dazed; uncertain whether to follow or remain, his breast full of conflicting emotions; bewilderment at the vast field of possibilities opened by the Colonel's receipt of the letter; rage at his cowardly imputations, and dismay at the consequences of the strong circumstantial evidence which Madame Darcy had unwittingly manufactured against him; and at the effect which the Colonel's charges might produce on Miss Fitzgerald.
He was prepared for hysterics, recriminations, stern questions, scorn, anger, and endless tears; but totally unprepared for the ringing burst of laughter which greeted him as soon as the Colonel had left the room; cold, cynical laughter, fromthe girl he had just asked to be his wife, who threw herself on the couch, her eyes flashing and her whole face twitching with anger or merriment, he was not certain which.
"Oh dear—oh dear!" she cried, when she could at last control her voice, "this is too funny! too dreadfully funny!"
"I don't see anything amusing about it," he said bluntly. He was angry and sore, and this ill-timed merriment irritated him.
"Don't you? Then you must have lost your sense of humour. This young man," she continued, pointing at him, as if she were exhibiting him to a crowd. "This good young man, who preaches me sermons on self-respect—who is concerned for my good name—who thinks I've been too careless of my reputation, who is cut to the heart because I do not live up to the ideal to which he considers a woman should attain, who has just done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage—not because he loves me—oh dear, no—but because he feels it his duty to save me from myself. This practical young man, who combines pleasure with duty, by conducting anaffaire du cœur, in a neighbouring farmhouse, with my friend's wife, but whose morality is so outraged at the man who is courteous enough to permit that wife to get the divorce, that he can't bear to be in the same room with him. This superlatively excellent young man, who had almost persuaded me that I was wrong in my estimate of human nature, turns out to be the worst of the lot, a whitened sepulchre oflying and hypocrisy and deceit—or perhaps I should sum it all up and say—a model of diplomacy. Isn't it funny—isn't it cruelly, wickedly humorous? Do you wonder I laugh?"
"If you can believe this of me, Miss Fitzgerald——" began the Secretary, who had flushed, and then turned as white as a sheet.
"One story's good till another is told, my dear Jimsy; but I was wrong to have laughed. I quite understand, believe me, the painfulness of your position."
"I tell you it's not true——" he began.
"Oh, don't try to improve the situation. You can't"—she continued, rising and towering before him in the majesty of her wrath. "I'd really come to believe that there was one among the hundreds of worthless, vicious, mercenary human beings I know, who called themselves men, who was what he claimed to be; who really believed in the old fallacies of right and duty, and moral cleanliness, and lived up to them; who really kept the ten commandments in thought as well as in act, a strong rock of defence to whom I might cling in time of trouble; but he's a fraud like all the rest, and the man I made a hero turns out to be of clay!"
She paused, and the Secretary, controlling himself, replied coldly:
"After what you've said, it's of course worse than useless for me to repeat the question I asked you just before Colonel Darcy intruded his presence upon us. It had better remain unanswered."
"No," she said. "I don't think so. It needs an answer, and you shall have it—but not yet. I've been a little fool, and have been punished for my folly; but I don't know any reason why I should make you suffer. You're only as you were made. You can't help it, I dare say."
"You surely can't think of marrying me, believing what you do."
"I don't know. While I thought you were an angel, I was afraid of you. I thought I should have to be constantly living up to you and listening to sermons;— Thank Heavens you can never preach to me again. Even you wouldn't have the face to do it now. But since I've found out that you're only very human, I really don't know but what I might grow to love you. I'll think it over. There," she continued, "don't look so sheepish. I may decide not to take you after all, but until then consider yourself on approval. Don't say anything more, you'd only bore me. I want to be by myself and get my face straight, if I can," and crossing the room she broke out again into peals of ringing, unmusical laughter.
"This is intolerable!" he cried, but he addressed thin air,—he was alone.
"St. James' Club,"Piccadilly, W.
"My Dear Stanley,"I am sending this letter to you at Roberts' Hall, because I am certain that you are there."I can fancy you drawing a long face, and admitting to yourself that you are certainly in for a sermon from that old bore, Kent-Lauriston, but you are entirely mistaken. I shall neither expostulate with nor upbraid you, for you have done exactly what I expected you would do. Nevertheless I mean to save you from yourself, to which end I trust you are not as yet entangled, as it is less easy gracefully to break than make an engagement."The fact is, my dear Mr. Secretary, I do not consider you, under the present circumstances, a responsible creature. The fascinating Miss Fitzgerald has, I can well imagine, driven all other considerations into the background."I should probably have let you go to your fate, unchecked by any letter of mine, did I not feel that I had been morally negligent. You came to put your case in my hands, and proved so sweetly rational that, for the last time I swear, I trustedin human nature, and left you to your own devices, instead of watching your every movement until the danger was past."Of course I have heard the little scandal about your escapade with Colonel D——'s wife. All London is ringing with it, thanks to her husband."What you most want is change of scene and occupation, to distract you from your present cares. There is only one way to drown care without drowning oneself—and that is by work. So unless I find you grinding away at the Legation to-morrow noon, I shall invite myself to be one of Mrs. Roberts' house-party, and we shall see what may be effected even in the face of overwhelming odds. Give me a fair field and no favour, and I pledge my word to win you to yourself."In any event command my humble services.
"My Dear Stanley,
"I am sending this letter to you at Roberts' Hall, because I am certain that you are there.
"I can fancy you drawing a long face, and admitting to yourself that you are certainly in for a sermon from that old bore, Kent-Lauriston, but you are entirely mistaken. I shall neither expostulate with nor upbraid you, for you have done exactly what I expected you would do. Nevertheless I mean to save you from yourself, to which end I trust you are not as yet entangled, as it is less easy gracefully to break than make an engagement.
"The fact is, my dear Mr. Secretary, I do not consider you, under the present circumstances, a responsible creature. The fascinating Miss Fitzgerald has, I can well imagine, driven all other considerations into the background.
"I should probably have let you go to your fate, unchecked by any letter of mine, did I not feel that I had been morally negligent. You came to put your case in my hands, and proved so sweetly rational that, for the last time I swear, I trustedin human nature, and left you to your own devices, instead of watching your every movement until the danger was past.
"Of course I have heard the little scandal about your escapade with Colonel D——'s wife. All London is ringing with it, thanks to her husband.
"What you most want is change of scene and occupation, to distract you from your present cares. There is only one way to drown care without drowning oneself—and that is by work. So unless I find you grinding away at the Legation to-morrow noon, I shall invite myself to be one of Mrs. Roberts' house-party, and we shall see what may be effected even in the face of overwhelming odds. Give me a fair field and no favour, and I pledge my word to win you to yourself.
"In any event command my humble services.
"Yours as ever,"Kent-Lauriston."Friday evening."
The Secretary dropped back on the comfortable divan that occupied a recess in one corner of the smoking-room, and gazed vacantly at the letter as it lay in his lap; then he gave a great sigh, and reached for a fresh cigarette. In his own estimation, matters could not be worse, but unfortunately he was not in a position to heed his friend's advice and bolt for London the first thing in the morning—indeed his recognition of Darcy's letter, the possible significance of which he was at lastbeginning to realise, imperatively demanded his presence and attention.
Besides, he was now accountable to others. To Belle in the first place—and to Colonel Darcy in the second. For the latter he cared not a whit. It was true that circumstantial evidence had made rather a strong case against him—but the Secretary was sure the Colonel did not really believe the charge he had preferred against his wife to be true, and that he had merely seen, in the unfortunate combination of circumstances, a chance of strengthening his own position.
But while Stanley had little concern for the Colonel's status, he felt a great deal for his own. Fate had treated him badly, very badly, and he owed it to Belle and to Madame Darcy, and to his own good name, to right himself as speedily as possible.
The figure he would cut in Madame Darcy's eyes was bad enough in all conscience. He supposed she would never speak to him again, and, for some reason which he was at a loss to explain satisfactorily to himself, this prospect made him feel uncommonly blue. He even felt no resentment against her, though her innocent rashness had been the font of all his misfortunes. Somehow it seemed an honour to be associated with her, even to his own undoing. And that by any efforts in her behalf, he should have unwittingly injured her, nearly drove him to despair, with chagrin and regret.
But if his position in the eyes of Madame Darcyand of himself was most awkward, the position he held in Miss Fitzgerald's estimation was, he told himself again and again, simply unbearable. That it was possible for any good woman to believe—and she certainly did believe—the things that were said about him, and yet find it in her heart to even consider matrimony with such an unscrupulous cad as he must appear to her, revolted him. It was not nice; he was sure Lady Isabelle would never have done so.
Perhaps she did not care, that was worst of all; that she did not care for him, for his good name, his honour, his reputation, only for—the thought was intolerable—he started up and drank off a strong peg of whiskey; he felt that he needed a bracer. In the hopes of distracting his thoughts, he once more took up and re-read Kent-Lauriston's letter, which had arrived before dinner and lain forgotten during the excitement of the evening; and which he had found waiting to greet him, when, at the close of that dreadful interview, he had stolen away to his room without bidding anybody good-night. He remembered that he had hesitated to open it, knowing as he did that it contained a remonstrance against committing a folly, which he had already committed. He had determined to read it calmly, but it awakened within him a scathing self-examination most unsettling in its result.
He recognised it as the dictum of an astute man of the world, a "connoisseur des grandes passions" one who knew the symptoms with unfailingaccuracy. In short, the Secretary did not for a moment doubt the truth of what his friend had written; but he was equally certain that it did not apply to his own case.
Miss Fitzgerald had by no means driven all other thoughts from his mind. Indeed, he realised that she had, during the last few days, held a relatively small place in his thoughts. He was not miserable when he was absent from her—he had enjoyed his talk with Madame Darcy and his walk with Lady Isabelle immensely. He had not even decided that he should ask Belle to marry him till the eleventh hour, and was not that decision due, after all, to the pity which, we are told, is akin to love, but which by itself forms such an unsatisfactory substitute? Would his friend have any trouble in winning him to himself, as he expressed it? Was he supremely happy? Was he not rather, in his heart of hearts, wishing himself well out of the whole affair? The words of Madame Darcy came back to him, doubly enforced by these contradictory data.
"You do not love her. Love is blind. Love does not reason."
Had it come to this, then—was he such a weak fool that he did not know his own mind; that he had proposed to a woman who existed only in his imagination; who so little resembled the real one that he had no wish to assimilate the two; that he was already regretting the step before it was half taken? What hope did that hold out for a happy future? He was thoroughly disgustedwith himself. In a fit of mortified rage, he crumpled up the letter in his hand, and threw himself down among the cushions of the divan. As he lay there Kingsland entered the room.
"Why," he said, "I thought you had retired."
This was, indeed, the truth, but the restlessness induced by Kent-Lauriston's note had made the confinement of his chamber seem intolerable, and a rapid survey of the rooms downstairs assured him that the Dowager and Miss Fitzgerald were in full possession; a combination which, under the circumstances, he did not care to face. These facts, however, were hardly to be adduced to a third party, and the Secretary, turning to the resources of diplomacy, reminded the Lieutenant that they had had an appointment for a game of pool, which one of them, at least, had not seen fit to keep.
"Shall we have it now?" suggested Kingsland.
"No," answered Stanley. "I'm not feeling fit."
"Try a drink, then."
"I've just had one."
"Drinking alone? That's a bad sign. What are you so blue about?"
"I'm wondering," said Stanley, "how a man can ever be fool enough to fall in love, or get married."
"Oh," said the Lieutenant, "so she's refused you, eh?"
"Who?"
"Belle Fitzgerald."
"Yes," replied the Secretary, shortly.
The Lieutenant thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets and paced the room in silence, whistling softly to himself. Finally he remarked:
"Well, I'm sorry, old chap, but I've been more lucky."
"Oh," said the Secretary. "Lady Isabelle, I suppose."
Kingland nodded.
"Does mamma approve?" inquired Stanley.
The young officer shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm going to postpone entering into that matter," he said, "till after the ceremony."
"Oh," said the Secretary shortly. "An elopement. Well, I don't know that I can conscientiously offer my congratulations—to Lady Isabelle, at least, but I dare say you'll find it worth while."
"You needn't be so nasty, just because you've been disappointed."
"Oh, it isn't that; but, as you say, I've no reason to express an opinion. It isn't the first time a young man's eloped with a lady of means."
"Well," snapped the Lieutenant in reply, "it's a shade above eloping with somebody else's wife who happens to have a large bank account."
Stanley sprang to his feet.
"If that cad of a Darcy," he cried, "has been saying——"
"Oh, you needn't assume the high moral rôle," said Kingsland. "I've just had the story first hand from him."
"It isn't the first time he's told it to-night," snapped the Secretary.
"What! You don't mean to the fair Belle?"
Stanley nodded, and Kingsland threw himself on the sofa in a paroxysm of laughter.
"But how did you come to see Darcy?" demanded the young diplomat, ignoring his friend's ill-timed merriment. "I ordered him out of the house."
"Yes," replied the Lieutenant, "so he told me. But he's lost a valuable letter in the hall."
"The hall? Why, there doesn't seem to be much chance of losing anything there. There are no draperies and very little furniture."
"Well, it's a queer business," admitted the officer. "But while the Colonel was telling me about your little escapade, he dropped a letter which he had taken from its envelope, and just at that moment the butler came in. He started to pick up the letter for the Colonel, but Darcy jumped forward, and so between them it was pushed under the crack of that old oak door studded with silver nails."
"A letter!" cried the Secretary. "Did you notice what it looked like?"
"No," said Kingsland incautiously, "except that it had an address scrawled across one side in pencil."
Stanley waited to hear no more. Fate seemed playing into his hands at last, and springing to the door he threw it open, and saw to his intense astonishment the figure of Colonel Darcy grovelling on the floor of the hall.
"I thought I told you to leave this house,Colonel Darcy," said Stanley, striving to be calm, but his voice quivering with suppressed emotion.
"So you did," replied his adversary, rising slowly to his feet, very red in the face and somewhat short of breath.
"Then why haven't you gone? Do you wish me to speak to Mrs. Roberts?"
"I intended to obey your request, out of respect to Miss Fitzgerald. But the fact is, I have lost an important letter."
"So Kingsland tells me, though it seems almost impossible."
"Truth, sir, is often stranger than fiction," replied the Colonel angrily, "as our own relations with each other have already proved. But, as you have given me the lie once this evening, you can, if you see fit, prove the truth of my statement by referring it to the butler."
"I gave you the lie, as you express it, Colonel Darcy," replied the Secretary, "because my own knowledge assured me, that your charges were untrue. In this case, however, I am quite ready to fully accept your statement. But it's a pure waste of time to attempt to recover your letter. For two hundred years they've tried to open that portal, and to this day it remains closed."
"The butler told me some such cock-and-bull story—but of course——"
"It's quite true."
"But I must have my letter. I must have it, I tell you—surely someone knows the secret."
"There's a legend current to the effect that thepressure of five of these silver nails, one by each of the five fingers, will suffice to open the door. But to my way of thinking it's likely to remain closed for two centuries to come."
"Curse it!" cried the Colonel, throwing himself against the portal in a frenzy. "It has neither handle nor keyhole, and it's as firm as iron! What am I to do?"
"If it's absolutely necessary to recover this document, I'll tell Mrs. Roberts. Though I should doubt if she'd consent to ruin an interesting heirloom for the sake of a gentleman against whom she already entertains a prejudice."
"I couldn't think of it. Impossible to put Mrs. Roberts to so much inconvenience; I shouldn't consider it for a moment! Let the cursed letter remain where it is!" replied the Colonel, evidently very much upset by this proposition.
"As I'd supposed, Colonel Darcy, you would prefer that the document should remain where it is, rather than it should pass, even temporarily, into any other hands than yours. Might I inquire if it's the one you received from Miss Fitzgerald."
"It is, of course, quite useless to attempt to deceive a diplomat," replied his companion, with a touch of temper which was not lost on Stanley, who answered composedly:
"I think you may be reasonably assured that your letter will never be found till you and it have long been dust, and till not only its importance, but its very meaning, have become unintelligible. You may consider it irrevocably lost, and so, asthere's no further excuse for your remaining, Colonel Darcy, I'll wish you—good-night," and the Secretary threw open the great hall door.
"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," replied the unwelcome guest, with a frown of anger as he passed over the threshold. "Good-night—but not good-bye—remember we've still a score to settle."
Stanley closed the great front door, turned the key, shot the bolts, and lighting his bedroom candle, slowly and thoughtfully betook himself to his chamber.
Kingsland's knowledge of the mysterious letter only served to increase the Secretary's suspicions of that young officer's complicity with Darcy, while the letter itself presented such a bewildering variety of contradictory possibilities, that his mind was dazed. A further consideration of his past experiences in this matter did not make him feel any the easier, and for the first time, under the spur of doubt and mistrust, he recalled Kingsland's story of the reception of the missive, and subjected it to a critical analysis. Mr. Riddle had said, and the Lieutenant had confirmed, that the letter had been handed by the former to the latter at the Hyde Park Club, and that the Lieutenant was then "leaving the room." Yet the Secretary, now he came to think of it, was sure Mr. Riddle had not been of the company at or after dinner, and that Kingsland had not left the drawing-room or attempted to do so. Moreover, if Riddle had given him the money for the stamp, why had henot mentioned the fact at the time? The letter was evidently of importance, and intended for Darcy, a man of whose every action, he had the greatest distrust. Yet the important missive, after being lost for three days, was given by its owner to Miss Fitzgerald, who thought so little of it, that she used the envelope to scribble an address on, before giving it to the Colonel, who now had lost it under the secret door.
It was certainly a mystery to which he was unable to offer any solution, but which, nevertheless, caused him a vague uneasiness. He drew up an arm-chair beside the table, and lighting his lamp, prepared to seek distraction in a book.
The Secretary had scarcely settled to his reading, however, when he was startled by a sharp click against his window. At first he thought nothing of it, but at a repetition of the noise, plainly produced by a pebble thrown up against the glass, he opened the casement and looked out.
The night was very dark, and he could see nothing; but out of the blackness below him came a voice, which he thought he recognised, calling his name softly.
"Why, John!" he cried, scarcely believing it could be the Legation factotum. "What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?"
"Special message from 'is h'Excellency, sir," came in the familiar cockney of the messenger, with the added caution, "don't speak so loud, please—it's that private—"
Stanley nodded, quite oblivious of the fact that he was invisible, and added in lowered tones:
"Go round to the front, and I'll come down and let you in."
He cautiously made his way downstairs, pausing at every creaking board in fear that he had awakened the household, and traversing the long hall, opened the great front door, and admitted the shivering John; for the night was cool, and several hours of watching and waiting had chilled the messenger thoroughly.
"How long have you been out there?"
"Since ten, sir."
"Good Heavens! and it's past midnight! Come up to my room, and I'll give you some whiskey."
"Thank ye, sir. I shan't mind a drop—it's that cold, but I'll take off me boots first."
"Take off your boots!"
"'Is h'Excellency was most par-ti'cler, sir, as no one but you should know as I was 'ere."
"Oh, I see. Very well. Leave them at the foot of the stairs. You'll find these flags rather cold for stocking-feet."
A few minutes later John was installed in the Secretary's bedroom, and his inner man was being warmed and refreshed with a copious dram of whiskey—while Stanley, seated at his table, was breaking the seals of the despatch which the messenger had brought him.
"It's most secret, sir."
"Quite so. How did you know which was my room?"
"The lady of the 'ouse, sir, employs the hinnkeeper's daughter to 'elp the 'ousekeeper day times—and so——"
"I see; very clever, John. Eh! what's this?" and bending forward to the light he read the now opened dispatch. It was short and to the point.
"Dear Mr. Stanley," wrote the Minister. "This is to inform you that we have discovered the silent partner in the firm, who is the chief instrument in putting up the money to defeat the treaty. His name is Arthur Riddle. He is a guest of your hostess, and should be watched. Darcy left for Sussex this afternoon, presumably for your neighbourhood. Kindly report progress, if any, sending letter by John, who should return at once.
"Dear Mr. Stanley," wrote the Minister. "This is to inform you that we have discovered the silent partner in the firm, who is the chief instrument in putting up the money to defeat the treaty. His name is Arthur Riddle. He is a guest of your hostess, and should be watched. Darcy left for Sussex this afternoon, presumably for your neighbourhood. Kindly report progress, if any, sending letter by John, who should return at once.
"Yours, etc."X——."
As the full force of this communication became apparent to the unfortunate Secretary, he sunk back in his chair, groaning in an agony of mortification.
"Dear, dear, sir!" cried John, who had been meditatively regarding the bottom of his empty glass. "You don't mean to tell me as they've got away."
The messenger, it may be remarked, not being supposed, technically, to know any official secrets, knew more than most of his superiors.
"Oh, it isn't that, it's a thousand times worsethan that! I'm such an infernal fool! John, I've had those instructions in my possession."
"You have!" cried the messenger, much excited.
"Yes. Had them for three days in the inside pocket of my dress-suit, and being the greatest idiot in the diplomatic service, I never even suspected what they were, and gave them back to the man who wrote them."
"What, Riddle?"
Stanley groaned, and bowed his head.
"Dear, dear," said John, gravely, "I'm afraid it's a bad business, sir." And noticing that the Secretary was absorbed in his own woes, he judged it a favourable opportunity to replenish his glass, which he thoughtfully consumed, while the unfortunate diplomat poured out to the old messenger, who was distinctly thedeus ex machinaof his Legation, and who had helped him out of many a tight place in the past, the story of the letter. How he had received it, how he had been induced to give it up, and finally how it reached its present destination.
"Well," he said despairingly, in conclusion, "what do you think, John?"
"Hit's hall the woman, sir. Take my word for hit, hit's hall the woman," replied that functionary, with dignity.
"What, Miss Fitzgerald?"
John nodded, with the solemnity befitting so weighty a dictum.
"You old idiot!" cried Stanley. "It's nothingof the sort. Miss Fitzgerald's share in this matter was merely a coincidence."
"Didn't you tell me has it was she suggested your taking han hold letter to keep score hon, knowing well you 'adthe letterin your hinside pocket hall the time?"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Secretary. "How could she have known anything about it? She had never laid eyes on the letter till I produced it."
"Mr. Stanley," returned the messenger, with a dignity against which the two glasses he had consumed struggled unsuccessfully, "h'I've fostered young gentlemen, an' got h'em hout hof scrapes, an' taught h'em their ha, b, c's of diplomacy, afore you was weaned, han' I knows whereof h'I speaks, h'I tells yer, hit's the woman!"
"I wish you'd get me out of this scrape. I'd be your friend for life."
"That's heasy enough. Youmustget the letter."
"But how—I tell you——"
"Get it," reiterated the messenger, whose potations had made him optimistic. "Blow this bally hold barn into the next county, hif need be, but open that door and get it."
The Secretary looked despairingly at the despatch, and tossing it to John, said:
"And what am I to answer to this?"
"H'I'll answer it, hif you'll let me come to the table."
"You!"
"Yes—and you can copy and sign it. Hit won't be the first private note h'I've hanswered, or the first despatch h'I've written, heither," and with this rebuke he composed the following:
"To"His Excellency,"The Honourable,"———
"Sir:—"I have the honour to acknowledge your Excellency's private despatch of the 20th inst., and to inform you in reply that the person mentioned in it is now a guest in this house, also that I have discovered the present location of the papers desired, and hope soon to be able to place them in your hands.
"Sir:—
"I have the honour to acknowledge your Excellency's private despatch of the 20th inst., and to inform you in reply that the person mentioned in it is now a guest in this house, also that I have discovered the present location of the papers desired, and hope soon to be able to place them in your hands.
"I am, Sir,"Your obedient servant,"———."Sunday, 12.45a. m."
The Secretary read and approved, and in a few moments had produced a copy of the same, which was duly signed and sealed.
"And now," he said, "you must be off. There's a train to London about six."
"Yes, sir. Hit's a very cold night, sir."
"No, you've had enough, and you need to keep your wits about you," and he led the way downstairs.
"John," he said, as he let the faithful servitor out, "I believe you're right in what you said."
"Habout the woman, sir?"
"Of course not. I tell you the lady knows nothing whatever of the matter; pray disabuse your mind of that absurd idea, once and for all. I mean about the letter."
"Yes, sir."
"I've got to get it again, John. Send me the best book you can find on combination locks. Iwillget it! Impossibilities don't count!"
"Yes, sir. Good-night, sir, and remember, hit's the woman!"
The Secretary passed one of the worst nights of his life. His pride, self-esteem, and youthful estimation of his abilities as a diplomat had received a crushing blow. He told himself that he was not fit to copy letters in an office, much less to undertake delicate negotiations in which the honour of his country was involved. The conspirators had known him for what he was, a conceited young ass, and had egregiously fooled him to the top of his bent. They had regained the document without half trying; even Kingsland, whose intellect he had looked down on, had completely taken him in. It seemed as if he must die of shame when it became known. He would be disgraced and turned out of the service with ridicule. Then of his despair was born that resolution todo, which sets all obstacles at naught, and succeeds because it declares the possibility of the impossible.
He must retrieve himself, he must regain that letter, and hereafter his self-reproaches were mingled with every scheme leading to its recovery, that his brain could concoct.
He was downstairs soon after seven.
Entering the great hall, he found Lady Isabelle in sole possession, but equipped to go out.
"Whither so early?" he said.
"I'm going away—that is—out."
"Away?" he queried, as he saw her eyes fill with tears, and noted that she was closely veiled "Can I serve you?"
"No—yes," she replied, uncertain how to answer him. "Could I ask you to do me a very great favour?"
"Most certainly."
"But it's something you won't like to do."
"Lady Isabelle," he said quietly, "we've been very good friends, and I may tell you that I've a suspicion of what you intend to do this morning. Won't you trust me, and allow me to help you in any way in my power?"
"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I will, because I'm sure you mean what you say, and I'm in desperate straits. You remember the answer I gave to a question of yours last evening?"
"That you did not care for me—yes."
"I might have added," she said shyly, casting down her eyes, "that I cared for someone else."
"Lieutenant Kingsland?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure you're making a wise choice, Lady Isabelle?" he asked, feeling that he ought not to allow this state of affairs to continue when he was almost certain that the young officer was practically a criminal, whom it might be his duty to have arrested any day, yet prevented by hisinstructions from preferring any charges against him to Lady Isabelle.
"Don't, please," she said. "You misjudge him."
"I hope I do."
"You do not understand. How should you? Have you ever seen him in his uniform? He is a picture, and you know," sinking her voice, "his family dates from the Conquest."
The Secretary shrugged his shoulders. He'd had enough of warning people for their own good, so he contented himself with remarking that a disregard for the Decalogue seemed compatible with an unbroken descent from the Norman robber.
"Now you're cynical," she cried, "but I shan't argue with you, for I love him, and we're to be married this morning in the chapel. Everything has been arranged, and in fifteen minutes I shall be his wife."
"That's very interesting," said Stanley. "But where do I come in?"
"I need your help."
"Oh, I see. I suppose that if I'd any real interest in your welfare, I ought to refuse, but as you'd do as you please in any event, I'm quite at your service."
"Thanks. Mamma will be here presently. She's announced her intention of attending early service, and if she does——"
"She might interrupt another, and that would be awkward."
"Dreadfully. She does not wish me to marry Lieutenant Kingsland—I think she would rather I married you."
"Is she so bitter? Well, make your own mind easy, I won't ask her."
"But you must."
"What!!!"
"Nothing short of a proposal would deter her from going to service."
"But, I thought you——!"
"Oh, I'll promise to be unavailable by the time you've finished,— Sh! she's coming. Remember your promise to help me, and wish me luck."
"With all my heart," he cried, as she vanished through the door, and the Dowager entered the hall.
Stanley wished the old lady good-morning which she received with chilling condescension, and neither of them spoke for some moments; a precious gain of time, during which her Ladyship put on her gloves, rearranged her cloak, unrolled and re-rolled her sunshade, paced the long hall, alternated glimpses out of the windows by glances up the great stairway, and betrayed every sign of impatient waiting for a tardy companion. The Secretary stood watching her and counting the minutes, which seemed to pass unusually slowly.
Finally the Dowager's patience got the better of her reserve; she faced round and demanded if he had seen her daughter.
"Yes," he replied, very deliberately. "I believe she was in the hall when I came down."
"Believe. Do you not know, Mr. Stanley?"
"I certainly caught a glimpse of her," he admitted.
"But she's not here now."
The Secretary made a careful inspection, from his point of vantage on the hearthstone, of every cobweb and corner of the great apartment, and in the end found himself forced to agree with the Marchioness' statement.
"Where has she gone, then?" was her next question.
"Really," he replied, "it is not your daughter's custom to keep me posted as to her movements."
"But you've eyes, haven't you?" she retorted, testily. "At least you know how she left this hall."
The Secretary sighed as he saw the end of his little manœuvre.
"She went out at the front door," he said.
"Why couldn't you have told me that to begin with?"
"You didn't ask me."
"Don't be so distressingly literal. I'm late for the service as it is. My daughter has probably misunderstood our arrangements, and is waiting for me at the church." And the Marchioness showed unmistakable signs of preparing to leave.
Even allowing a most liberal leeway to the maundering old parson, Stanley knew he could not yet have reached that passage beginning, "All ye that are married," and ending in "amazement,"for which there is a canonical time-allowance of at least five minutes; it therefore behoved him to play his last trump.
The Dowager, like a hen preening her feathers, had given the last touches to her garments, and was already half-way to the door, when the Secretary, stepping forward, arrested her progress by remarking:
"I feel that I owe you some explanation of what occurred last night, Lady Port-Arthur."
"Perhaps it's as well that you should explain," she replied, pausing at the door, "though I should have supposed it would have been unnecessary after our last interview."
"I've not forgotten it."
"You appeared to have done so last evening."
"Really, you know," he said, piqued by her rudeness, "I couldn't refuse to escort your daughter down to dinner when my hostess requested me to do so."
"If Mrs. Roberts so honoured you as to permit you to take in Lady Isabelle, naturally——"
"Yes, that is the way I should have put it."
"I do not pretend to say how you should have expressed yourself, but I wish to point out that your place at dinner was no excuse for your place afterwards."
"Oh, in the conservatory. Well, you see, the fact is, I was telling Lady Isabelle——"
"Yes, Mr. Stanley. What were you telling my daughter?"
He glanced at the clock. Seven minutes hadelapsed since the Dowager entered the hall. He hoped they would shorten the service.
"I was asking her a question," he continued.
"Well?"
The Dowager was far below zero.
"I asked her if she cared for me."
"And she naturally referred you to her mother."
"She told me a few minutes ago that you were coming here," he replied, noticing that his companion's mercury was rapidly rising.
"I'm glad," continued the Marchioness, "that you've taken so early an opportunity to explain what I could only consider as very singular conduct. For dear Isabelle's sake I'll consent to overlook what has occurred in the past, and if you can make suitable provision——"
Five minutes only remained before the time of early service. He thought his income large enough to fill the interval, and interrupted with:
"The woman I marry would have——," and then he told the Dowager all about it, in sterling and decimal currency.
"I think," said that lady, with a sigh of relief at the end of his narration, which, it may be remarked, took the best part of half an hour, "I think dear Isabelle's happiness should outweigh any social disparity, and that we may consider her as good as married."
"Yes," he replied, remembering that the church bells had stopped ringing some fifteen minutes before. "Yes, your Ladyship, I think we may."
A few minutes later Stanley found himself in one of the secluded stretches of the park, breathing in the fresh keen morning air with a new sense of delight, after the inherent stuffiness of the Dowager.
He trusted that Lady Isabelle would break the news to her mother at once, and get it over before he returned; but even then he had an unpleasant interview before him. As an accepted suitor the Marchioness would owe him an apology, which he could not avoid accepting. He hoped he could do the heart-broken and disappointed lover, whose feelings were tempered by the calm repression of high gentility. It was the rôle he had figured for himself, and he thought it excellent.
All his ideas, however, were centred on the problem of recovering the lost document; some means of entry to that secret tower there must be, and he must find it. He could not, of course, be certain that the paper contained Darcy's instructions; but it was admittedly important, and its loss had done him an injury which could only be atoned for by its recovery.
A light footfall interrupted his meditations, and looking up, he saw, standing before him, half screened by the bushes which she was holding back, to give her free access to the main path which he was pursuing, the graceful figure and sad, sweet face of Madame Darcy.
A shade of annoyance passed over his brow as he remembered the scene of the night before, and his companion was quick to interpret his mood."Ah, Mr. Stanley," she said, "you've seen my husband."
"Yes," he admitted. "He came up to the Hall last night."
"I hope he didn't make himself a nuisance," she said.
"Well, I'm afraid he did rather," he returned, and added, "but it's nothing," for he felt that it would be impossible for him to tell her what had really occurred.
"I'm so sorry," she cried. "I only bring you trouble."
"No, indeed," he hastened to assure her, "far from it. These little talks with you are a positive rest and refreshment to me. I hate this playing the spy."
"I suppose it won't do for me to ask how you're progressing, and what you've found out?"
"I've found out that I've made an awful fool of myself," he said. "Mr. Riddle——"
"I could have told you who Mr. Riddle was yesterday," she said.
The Secretary shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm afraid that would have been of little use."
"Be very careful," she warned him. "There are others besides Mr. Riddle whom you have to look out for."
Could it be possible, he asked himself, that she suspected her husband? Aloud, he said:
"Whom do you mean?"
She shrugged her shoulders."It's not for me to belie my own sex," she retorted, "but——"
"You mean there is a woman in the case?"
She nodded.
The Secretary drew himself up very stiffly.
"It's an impossibility that we will not discuss," he said. "Your prejudices mislead you."
Yet, in spite of his apparent calmness, he was greatly disturbed, for this was the second time that day that doubt had been cast upon Miss Fitzgerald.
Determined to drive these unjust suspicions from his mind, the Secretary turned the conversation into other channels, and spent a most delightful hour in the park with Madame Darcy, in which they came to understand each other marvellously well. Prompted by that subtle instinct which invariably suggests to the feminine mind the proper course with a man she cares to impress, she relegated her own woes to the uncertain future, and led the conversation into reminiscences of their common country. So time fled by unnoticed, till Stanley had arrived at the dangerous point of wondering why fate had not ordained his life differently before she had married that brute, or he had—no, no, he did not mean that! He was a very lucky dog, and Belle was much too good for him—and, in short, he must go back to the Hall.
To this, however, his fair companion strongly objected. She was lonely, she wished to be diverted. His time was his own. Considering that he was partially engaged to two ladies, the Secretary felt this statement admitted of qualifications. Besides, they were at the entrance of the farmhousewhere she was staying—it was a most ideal spot—he must step in and see it.
But his reasons were of a more solid nature, and he laughingly confided to her that his wish to depart arose not from a desire to avoid her society, but from the fact that he had, as yet, had no breakfast.
"But it is my own case," she cried with a ringing laugh. "I'm starving, actually starving—it is a most droll coincidence."
Stanley assured her he would not detain her a moment longer, but this was equally repugnant to his hostess' views of hospitality. She declared that a breakfast for one was a breakfast for two; if not, more should be ordered. Her appetite was that of a bird; the repast was humble, but it was a sin to go without sampling the housewife's eggs and cream—there were none so good at the Hall, she was sure.
The Secretary told her that he could not dream of staying, and found himself within five minutes ensconced at Madame Darcy's table.
No liquids, other than fresh milk and pure spring water were served at this repast, yet Stanley arose fully assured that they were the most intoxicating beverages he had ever tasted, and betook himself Hall-wards towards noon, through a maze of black eyes, and dazzling flashes of beauty, his brain vibrating with a voice, whose tones were the poetry of sound.
A vision of the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur, placidly seated on the lawn, under a greenumbrella, with a book in her lap, and evidently on the borderland of sleeping and waking, brought him to earth once more.
It would be better to interrupt her matutinal slumbers, and get one of his two dreaded interviews over. She looked rather too composed, he thought, for a disappointed mother, and he was sure she would be that, did she know the truth. He coughed discreetly, and approached, slowly enough to permit her Ladyship to quite recover her senses, before he arrived by her side.
It would not do to appear too downcast before being informed of the hopelessness of his suit, so putting on his best society manner, and reflecting that an adversary disconcerted is an adversary at a disadvantage, he asked, as if it were quite the most ordinary of questions:
"How beautiful are your feet—Lady Port Arthur?"
"Dear me, young man!" exclaimed her Ladyship, now thoroughly awake, "they've always been considered beautiful; but why should you ask?"
"My reference was scriptural, purely scriptural, I assure you— I was referring to the feet of the messengers upon the mountains, who bring good tidings. You'll find it in Isaiah. Are you one of them?"
"There are no mountains in Sussex, and the rising generation knows entirely too much," snapped out the Dowager. "As for you— I've conferred with my daughter——"
Shehastold her, thought the Secretary, preparingto draw down his mouth to the requisite expression of woe.
"—And it gives me great happiness to tell you——" she continued, beaming on Stanley in spite of his flippancy, at which that gentleman drew down his mouth in good earnest, as he realised that she was still undeceived.
"—It gives me great happiness to tell you, that I believe your suit will have a favourable termination. She has promised to consider it."
"Oh," said the Secretary; and then, recollecting himself, added:
"It's very good of her, I'm sure."
If he had the opportunity, after lunch, he mentally determined to give Lady Isabelle a piece of his mind.
"It's an honest soul," continued her Ladyship, not noticing the interruption, "which refuses the promptings of her heart. Her hesitancy is quite natural, I assure you, and most becoming. When his Lordship asked the honour of my hand——" The Dowager sighed at the sweetness of reminiscence, and again took up the thread of her discourse.
"My daughter told me that she could not, without reflection, be certain of the state of her affections. Make allowance for her, Mr. Stanley, she is very young. Believe me, I should not speak as I do, were it not for the fact that I have known the world well—in my youthful days—though this you would scarcely believe, I dare say—I was one of the acknowledged leaders of the court."
"Your Ladyship's wit and beauty are a bye-word in all good society, and one has only to see you, to realise that they have been enhanced by the added grace of years," murmured the Secretary, doing his prettiest.
"You're a deceitful diplomat, and I don't believe you," said the Dowager, giggling and pretending to be very angry, but vastly pleased, none the less; and, giving him a flabby pat with one of her expansive hands, she continued:
"You must not be downhearted, however; leave everything to me."
The Secretary assured her that he felt quite safe to trust his heart in the keeping of one who had held the custody of so many, and was rewarded for his flattery by a further proof of the Dowager's confidence.
"Take my advice, dear James——" she began; but Stanley felt this was a step too far, and hastened to put himself on the defensive.
"That is not my name, Lady Port Arthur," he said, quietly.
"But surely," she continued, pressing her point, "your friends call you by a disrespectful contraction of it.
"Jim?" he asked, laughing. "Oh, that's because my Christian name is quite unfitted for ordinary usage—it's only brought out on state occasions."
"May I inquire what it is?"
"Aloysius."
"Dear me, no, I don't think I could call youthat; but as I was saying, if you take my advice you'll see as little as possible of Isabelle to-day. Leave her to herself; it's far wiser."
The Secretary felt decidedly relieved.
"I quite agree with you," he replied. "You may depend on my following your advice to the letter," and he turned towards the house.
"One point more," she said, detaining him with a gesture, "I strongly disapprove of secret engagements. I don't wish the insinuations made against my daughter that one hears about that impudent young minx, Miss Fitzgerald.— Why, they actually hinted that she was engaged to you!"
"Dear me! Did they?" murmured Stanley.
"If there is the happy issue that we both wish, I should desire that our friends here, if not society in general, should know it immediately."
"My dear lady," said the Secretary impressively, "the moment that your daughter tells you definitely that she accepts my offer of marriage, you may announce it to the whole world; till that time, however, I must insist, that for her sake as well as mine, you be most discreet," and he bowed himself from her presence.
The Marchioness sank back in her chair with a sigh of placid contentment. Her work in life was, she believed, on the eve of successful accomplishment, and that most agonising period to a mother—the time from her daughter's coming out to that young lady's engagement—was safely over. On the whole her child had behaved unusually well; but of late she had suffered some inquietude ofspirit, owing to the attentions of Kingsland, whom she, in common with all mothers of the social world, listed as belonging to the most dangerous and formidable class of youths that a girl, who has any pretensions to being apartie, can encounter.
In the case of the Lieutenant, however, Lady Port Arthur flattered herself that she had nipped matters in the bud, by the best of all cures for a romantic, impossible lover,i.e.a prospective husband. True, Mr. Stanley was not of noble family, she feared his people might even be called commercial; but he was eminently safe, and possessed of a substantial income wherewith to support the glories of the noble name of Port Arthur. In short, he was an admirable solution of the difficulty.
The Marchioness felt she was justified in taking forty winks, and did so.
Luncheon rather amused the Secretary than otherwise. He obeyed the Dowager's instructions to the letter, sat as far from Lady Isabelle as possible, and by the caprice of fate, found himself next to Miss Fitzgerald, who, with admirable foresight, treated him exactly as if nothing had happened, and that being half engaged to a man was the normal state of her existence. This put Stanley quite at his ease, and even Belle's fictitious claim on his services for the afternoon, based on her unsupported declaration that he had asked her to drive with him in the pony cart at four, a proposition he would never have dreamed of making,was accepted by him as a matter of course. A proceeding which elicited an expansive smile from the Dowager, who considered it a deep-laid diplomatic plot, in furtherance of her suggested plan of campaign.
The Secretary's attention was, however, mainly directed to Kingsland and Lady Isabelle, who sat side by side at table, and who acted, in his opinion like a pair of fools, till it seemed as if everyone present must guess the true state of affairs. As a matter of fact, no one did, and Stanley, seeing this, was once more reassured; for he did not wish to play his little part to more of an audience than was absolutely necessary.
Mr. Riddle, towards whom the Secretary, in view of the night's disclosures, felt even a stronger antipathy, was in high spirits, until he was silenced by Mrs. Roberts, who assured the company that she had caught him in the act of aiding and abetting the cottager's children to make mud pies in the public highway.