t, although Lady Chandos said plaintively
that she could not eat her luncheon alone.

"I am compelled to go," he said. "I have business, Marion, that is
imperative."

"I think husbands have a reserve fund of business," said Lady Chandos.
"What a mysterious word it is, and how much it covers, Lance. Lord
Seafield is never at home, but whenever his wife asks him where he is
going, he always says 'on business.' Now, in your case what does
business mean?"

He laughed at the question.

"Parliamentary interests, my dear," he replied, as he hastened away.
Such close questions were very difficult to answer.

He found the dining-rooms well filled, and, just as he had foreseen, the
one subject was La Vanira. Then, indeed, did he listen to some wonderful
stories. The Marquis of Exham declared that she was the daughter of an
illustrious Sicilian nobleman, who had so great a love for the stage
nothing could keep her from it. The Earl of Haleston said he knew for a
fact she was the widow of an Austrian Jew, who had taken to the stage as
the means of gaining her livelihood. Lord Bowden said she was the wife
of an Austrian officer who was possessed of ample means. There were at
least twenty different stories about her, and not one agreed with
another.

"I wonder," said Lord Chandos, at last, "what is the real truth?"

"About what?" said a white-haired major, who sat next to him.

"About La Vanira," he replied; "every one here has a different story to
tell."

"I can tell you as much truth as any one else about her," said the
major, "I was with the manager last evening. La Vanira is English. I
grant that she looks like a Spaniard--I never saw such dark eyes in my
life; but she is English; accomplished, clever, good as gold, and has no
one belonging to her in the wide world. That much the manager told me
himself."

"But where does she come from?" he asked, impatiently. "Everybody comes
from somewhere."

"The manager's idea is that she was brought up in the midland counties;
he thinks so from a few words she said one day."

"Is she married or single?" asked Lord Chandos.

"Single," was the reply; "and in no hurry to be married. She has refused
some of the best offers that could be made; and yet she wears a ring on
the third finger of her left hand--perhaps it is not a wedding-ring."

"I should like to see her," said Lord Chandos.

The white-haired major laughed.

"So would half the men in London, but no one visits her-