my arrangements for leaving home, but until I know definitely what yours are—."     

       "Mine?"     

       "Yes; yours and Ethel's."     

       A light broke in upon Sir John's somewhat obtuse mind. He had no desire to expedite matters, but then he was not the principal person to be consulted, and it certainly was not for him to raise any objection, so he acted immediately on the hint given him.     

       "My dear Duchess, what can I say? The matter rests entirely in       your hands. Let it be when you please. In another month I shall be comparatively free, and we can visit Switzerland if Ethel wishes."     

       The Duchess smiled. "That you must arrange with Ethel herself, and perhaps you had better broach the subject yourself to her. Girls are apt to be a little curious on these points."     

       "Then I will ask her to fix the day for our marriage." He bowed with old-fashioned gallantry over the pearl-grey suede, held out in farewell, and the Duchess rustled away with Soames, the deferential, in close attendance.     

       Soames did not like the idea of a mistress, but these "accidents"       he was well aware, would happen in the best regulated families, so he was now bent on making friends with the Mammon of Unrighteousness in the shape of the Duchess of Huddersfield and the bride elect.     

       Left alone, Sir John stood upright, his hand on the back of his chair and his brows tightly drawn together.     

       Well, why not? What possible excuse could he make to his own heart for the delay?     

       None, none. And yet he felt a good deal as if a thunderbolt had fallen from the skies at his feet, and it was more or less of a shock to him.     

       Presently he rang his bell.     

       "Who comes next, Soames?"     

       "Lady Rutherven, Sir John, but—but a lady who has no appointment has been waiting for more than an hour, and I thought perhaps you would see her first. She seems very ill."     

       "Show her in!"     

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