after all. She would be so disappointed
if I did not come, and my dress is quite _lovely_. Had your mysterious
business anything to do with _Bryngelly_?--

"Yours, Honoria."

"She would go on to a ball from her mother's funeral," said Geoffrey to
himself, as he walked up to Effie's room; "well, it is her nature and
there's an end of it."

He knocked at the door of Effie's room. There was no answer, so he
walked in. The room was lit but empty--no, not quite! On the floor,
clothed only in her white night-shirt, lay his little daughter, to all
appearance dead.

With something like an oath he sprang to her and lifted her. The face
was pale and the small hands were cold, but the breast was still hot and
fevered, and the heart beat. A glance showed him what had happened. The
child being left alone, and feeling thirsty, had got out of bed and gone
to the water bottle--there was the tumbler on the floor. Then weakness
had overcome her and she had fainted--fainted upon the cold floor with
the inflammation still on her.

At that moment Anne entered the room sweetly murmuring, "Ca va bien,
cherie?"

"Help me to put the child into bed," said Geoffrey sternly. "Now ring
the bell--ring it again.

"And now, woman--go. Leave this house at once, this very night. Do you
hear me? No, don't stop to argue. Look here! If that child dies I will
prosecute you for manslaughter; yes, I saw you in the street," and he
took a step towards her. Then Anne fled, and her face was seen no more
in Bolton Street or indeed in this country.

"James," said Geoffrey to the servant, "send the cook up here--she is
a sensible woman; and do you take a hansom and drive to the doctor, and
tell him to come here at once, and if you cannot find him go for another
doctor. Then go to the Nurses' Home, near St. James' Station, and get a
trained nurse--tell them one must be had from somewhere instantly."

"Yes, sir. And shall I call for her ladyship at the duchess's, sir?"

"No," he answered, frowning heavily, "do not disturb her ladyship. Go
now."

"That settles it," said Geoffrey, as the man went. "Whatever happens,
Honoria and I must part. I have done with her."

He had indeed, though not in the way he meant. It would have been
well for Honoria if her husband's contempt had not prevented him from
summoning her from her pleasure.

The cook came up, and between them they brought the child back to life.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "Is that you, dadd