on the point of starting, the news of some near relative's death; some untoward accident or stroke of fate, which took no count of social obligations, and would leave him in this most awful predicament. Why had he departed from his invariable rule of asking two married ladies – what if it did cramp him in the number of his guests? Anything was better than this suspense! If fate was only kind to him this once, he vowed he would never, as long as he lived, tempt her again in this respect.
Hark – what was that! a hansom was driving at break-neck speed up to the ladies' entrance. Some other belated guest – Lady Rainsford had her own carriage – no, a man – and – Good Heavens! it, was her Ladyship's – butler. Something had happened. He needed no page to summon him – he rushed down, two stairs at a time.
"No, sir, no message," explained the flustered butler – "I come on my own responsibility – seeing as her Ladyship had fainted dead away as she was just a putting on her opera cloak – and knowing as she was coming to you, sir, as soon as the doctors had been sent for, I jumps into a cab and comes here to let you know as you couldn't expect her no-how – her not having revived when I left – and – Thank you, sir – " as Stanley, cutting short his volubility, pressed a half-sovereign into his hand, to pay him for his cab fare and his trouble – adding as he did so: —
"Pray request her Ladyship not to worry herself about me, I shall be able, doubtless, to make other arrangements – and – express my deep regrets at her indisposition." The man touched his hat and was gone, and the Secretary slowly reascended the stairs.
"Make other arrangements!" Ah, that was easier said than done. What would his guests say when he confessed to them his awkward dilemma? Lady Isabelle McLane would raise her eyebrows, call a cab, and go home, would infinitely prefer to do so than to remain under the present conditions. But Belle? Without doubt Belle Fitzgerald would do the same – not because she wished to, but because Lady Isabelle did. And the two men – they would probably stay and chaff him about it the rest of the evening. Lieutenant Kingsland always chaffed everybody – he could stand that – but Kent-Lauriston's quiet, well-bred cynicism, would, he felt, under the circumstances, simply drive him mad.
Yet, they must be told. He must face the music, or find a chaperon, and how could he do the latter in a maze of people whom he did not know, and who were all engaged to their own dinner-parties? Outside the Club it was hopeless, for there was no time to send for any lady friend, even were such an one dressed and waiting to come at his behest. A telephone might have saved the situation, but London is above telephones; they are not sufficiently exclusive. No, he must meet his fate, and bear it like a man, and none of his guests would ever forget it or forgive him, or accept any of his invitations again.
Stanley ascended the stairs with the sensations of an early Christian martyr going to the arena – indeed, he felt that a brace of hungry lions would be a happy release from his present predicament. As he reached the top step, a conversation, carried on in the low but excited tones of a man and a woman, reached his ears, which caused him to pause, partly out of curiosity at what he heard, but more because the words carried, in their meaning, a ray of hope to his breast.
"I tell you, I will not dine with those men. It is an insult to have asked me to receive them, they are – ", but here the man, evidently her husband, interrupted earnestly in a low tone of voice, begging her to be silent, but she did not heed his request.
"I tell you," she continued, as he passed on to the dining-rooms, "I will go back alone. Ugh! how I despise you!" loathing and contempt stung in her words. "If only my father were here, he would never permit – " She turned suddenly, and crossed the hall to the staircase, coming face to face with the Secretary.
"What – Inez? You? I did not know you were in London. But of course – I might have known – Then that was Colonel Darcy? I have never had an opportunity to congratulate him or – to wish you every happiness," he added bitterly.
"Don't, Jim! Don't!" There was something suspiciously like a sob in her low voice. "That is a mockery I cannot stand – at least from you."
"I fail to understand how my wishes, good or otherwise, would mean anything to Madame Darcy."
"No – you do not understand. That is just it. Oh, Jim – it has all been a piteous, horrible mistake. They lied to me – and then you did not come back. They said you were – oh, can't you see?"
The Secretary looked at the beautiful face before him, now flushed and distressed. How well he knew every line of that exquisite profile and the hair parted low and drawn back lightly from the brow.
"Let me explain," he urged hotly.
Madame Darcy had recovered her self-possession and drew herself up with a gesture of proud dignity.
"No – " she answered gently. "This is neither the time nor place for explanations between us. Will you see me to my carriage – please?"
"Oh, don't go! I need you so. Please stay and help me out of a most embarrassing situation."
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, you see it is a most awkward predicament. My chaperon has been taken suddenly ill at the last moment, and is unable to be present," he began, plunging boldly into his subject. "As I am entertaining two young ladies at dinner to-night, you will understand my unfortunate situation. Will you honour me by accepting the vacant place at the head of my table, as my chaperon?"
Madame Darcy said nothing for a moment, but looked intently at the Secretary.
"Who form your party, Mr. Stanley?" she asked presently.
"Do not call me Mr. Stanley, Inez."
"It is better – at least for the present."
"As you wish, Madame Darcy," he acquiesced stiffly.
"I cannot explain now – but believe me it is wiser. And your party consists of – ?"
"Lady Isabelle McLane, daughter of the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur, Miss Fitzgerald, a niece of Lord Axminster, Lieutenant Kingsland, of the Royal Navy, and Lionel Kent-Lauriston – well, everybody knows him."
She smiled.
"Yes," she said, "I have met him; he is most charming." In saying which she but voiced the generally accepted verdict of society.
Everyone knew Kent-Lauriston and everyone liked him. He was a type of the most delightful class of Englishman. With all his insular prejudices strong within him, and combining in his personality those rugged virtues for which the name of Britain is a synonym, he had in addition that rarest of talents, the quality of being all things to all men; for he was possessed of great tact and sympathy flavoured with a cheerful cynicism which hurt no one, and lent a piquancy to his conversation. It was said of him, were he put down in any English shire, he would not need to walk five miles to find a country house where he would be a welcome and an honoured guest.
"Then I may hope that you will do me this great kindness?" continued the Secretary.
"I accept with pleasure."
"And Colonel Darcy – " he began.
"My husband," she replied, not waiting for him to finish his sentence, "cannot possibly have any objection to my dining with my country's diplomatic representative. I will speak to him, however, and tell him when to order my carriage," and she passed into the next room. Though unperceived himself, the Secretary saw reflected in a great mirror the scene that followed; her proud reserve as she delivered her dictum to her husband, his gesture of impatient anger, and the look which attended it; and finally the contempt with which
