join in this enterprise. If you will allow me, I
will telephone for my cheque book."

"Certainly," the Marquis agreed, "and in the meantime we can make our
peace with the ladies."

CHAPTER XVIII

Jacob, on his return from the telephone, found to his surprise a
familiar figure seated before the piano in the long drawing-room, an
apartment more picturesque than ever now in the shaded lamplight, with
its faded yellow satin furniture, its amber hangings, and its quaint
perfume of bygone days. Lady Mary came to meet him.

"You see what I have done for you," she whispered.

"Miss Bultiwell!"

Lady Mary nodded.

"You'll have to be careful, though," she warned him. "I can see that
there has been some trouble--that the course of true love hasn't been
running exactly as it should."

"I told you that," Jacob reminded her dismally. "I am beginning to
believe that she hates me."

"Not she," was the cheerful reply. "Look here, mother's gone into the
housekeeper's room for a moment. Dad and Mr. Montague are adding up
how much they have made out of you. You slip out on to the terrace
there, before she turns around, and I'll bring her out directly."

Jacob did as he was directed, and, with the echoes of Sybil's song
still in his ears, stepped out on to a wide balcony and stood looking
over the tops of the lime trees towards Buckingham Palace. Presently
there was a rustle of skirts, the sound of voices, and the two girls
appeared. Sybil stopped short when she saw Jacob, but Lady Mary stood
in the way of her retreat.

"You know Mr. Pratt, don't you?" she asked carelessly. "I thought so.
Miss Bultiwell's a perfect dear," she continued, turning to Jacob.
"She comes across the Square and sings to me sometimes after dinner
and even condescends to play my accompaniments. You've no idea what a
tax that is upon any one's good nature."

"I understood that you were to be alone this evening," Sybil remarked.

"But we are alone--practically," Lady Mary declared. "I am sure you
wouldn't count Mr. Montague, and Mr. Pratt is an old friend.--One
moment, there's my mother calling. Don't move, either of you, or we
shall have to sit in that stuffy drawing-room all the evening."

They were alone, and Jacob found it exceedingly difficult to think of
anything to say.

"I had no idea that you were _persona grata_ in this household," Sybil
remarked coldly.

"I'm not--if it means what it sounds as if it did," Jacob replied. "I
am a