her departure. The boxes
were packed; she went to take a last look at the dear garden. Reckage
followed, Fate accompanied him. He spoke. She sent a telegram to her
papa: 'Detained. Important. Will write.' No, the real woman for him was
Lady Sara de Treverell."

Ullweather thrust his tongue into his cheek.

"Lady Sara has been called to higher destinies," said he, "than the
heavenly 'sweet hand in hand!'"

"I see you know," said Bradwyn, with a mysterious glance.

"Yes," said Ullweather. "The friendship of the Duke of Marshire for Lady
Sara increases every day, and the little fit of giddiness which seized
him when he was dining with my Chief makes me think that admiration is
developing into love. I am in great hopes that this match may come off."

"As to that," said Hatchett, "her father and the Duke were the night
before last at Brooks's, but no conversation passed between them. This
does not look as though a very near alliance were in contemplation."

"There are prettier women than she in the world," said Aumerle.

"I have never seen her," said Penborough.

"Large eyes, a small head, and the devil of a temper," said Bradwyn;
"and sympathies--there never was a young woman with so many sympathies!
There is an old proverb," he added, with a sneer, "'They are not all
friends of the bridegroom who seem to be following the bride.'"

Ullweather was still absorbed in his own meditation.

"Marshire," said he, "is the man for us. We might do something with
Marshire."

"Nevertheless," said Penborough, "I have my eye on Orange."

"I say," exclaimed Bradwyn, "be careful. Here is Reckage again. How the
dickens did he pass us?"

The men glanced up at a solitary figure which now appeared descending
the broad staircase. In silence, and with a studied expression of
contempt, without a look either to the right or to the left, the
unpopular leader passed through the hall and out into the street.

"A lonely beggar, after all," said Bradwyn.

CHAPTER IV

Reckage was dining at home that evening with Orange, whose marriage was
to take place at the Alberian Embassy on the morrow. The young man was
not in good spirits at his friend's step, for he himself was about to
take a wife also, and much of the apprehension which he felt on his own
account found its vent in dreary soliloquies on the risk, sacrifices,
responsibilities, and trouble involved by the single act of saddling
oneself for a lifetime with some one woman.