bster growing
a fresh claw? What fun!"

There was a sound without, not of the footman struggling with dishes and
plates and the door-handle, but of middle-aged voices.

Instinctively Goring and Mildred straightened themselves and looked
polite. Lord Ipswich and Sir John Ireton, deep in political converse,
came slowly in and then stopped short in surprise. Mildred lost not a
moment in carrying the war into their country. She turned about and
addressed her uncle in a playful tone, which yet smacked of reproof.

"Here you are at last, Uncle John! I thought you'd forgotten all about
me. I've been walking miles in mad pursuit of you, till I was so tired
and hungry I think I should have dropped if Mr. Goring hadn't taken
pity upon me and made me eat his supper."

Sir John defended himself, and Lord Ipswich was shocked to think that a
lady had been in such distress in his house; although the apparition of
Goring prevented him from feeling it as acutely as he would otherwise
have done. His pleasant pink face took on an expression of severity as
he responded to his son-in-law's somewhat too cheerful greeting.

"Sorry to be so late, but we were held up by a fog at the mouth of the
Thames."

"It must have been very important business to take you all the way to
Brussels so suddenly."

"It certainly wouldn't wait. I heard there was a whole set of Beauvais
tapestries to be had for a mere song. I couldn't buy them without seeing
them you know, and the big London and Paris dealers were bound to chip
in if I didn't settle the matter pretty quick. I'm precious glad I did,
for they're the finest pieces I ever saw and would have fetched five
times what I gave for them at Christie's."

"Ah--really!" was all Lord Ipswich's response, coldly uttered and
accompanied by a smile more sarcastic than often visited his neat and
kindly lips. Sir John Ireton and Mildred, aware of the delicate
situation, partly domestic and partly political, upon which they were
intruding, took themselves away and were presently rolling through the
empty streets in the gray light of early morning.

CHAPTER XXV

Not long afterwards Mildred received a letter the very address of which
had an original appearance, looking as if it were written with a stick
in a fist rather than with a pen between fingers. It caught her
attention at once from half a dozen others.

"DEAR MRS. STEWART,--Yesterday I was at Cochrane's studio
and he told me Meres w