sastrously the loser, in any case," he remarked.
"As a matter of course, the conditions having been disregarded, Lady
Calmady withdrew her promise of a second donation."

"Oh! ah! Lady Calmady, really!" the simple-minded nobleman exclaimed.
"Very interesting piece of news and very generous intention, no doubt,
on the part of Lady Calmady. But give you my word Cathcart that until
this moment I had no notion that the anonymous donor of whom we heard
so much from one or two members of the committee--heard too much, I
thought, for I dislike mysteries--foolish, unprofitable things
mysteries--always turn out to be nothing at all in the finish--oh! ah!
yes--well, that the anonymous donor was Lady Calmady!"

And thereupon he shifted his position with as much assumption of
_hauteur_ as his inherent amiability permitted. He turned his chair
sideways, presenting an excellently flat, if somewhat broad,
scarlet-clad back to his persecutor upon the hearth-rug.--"Sorry to set
a man down in his own house," he said to himself, "but Cathcart's a
little wanting in taste sometimes. He presses a subject home too
closely. And, if I was bamboozled by Image, it really isn't Cathcart's
place to remind me of it."

He turned a worried and puckered countenance upon his hostess, upon Dr.
Knott, upon the drawing-room door. In the hall beyond one or two guests
still lingered. A lady had just joined them, notably straight and tall,
and lazily graceful of movement. Lord Fallowfeild knew her, but could
not remember her name.

"Oh! ah! Shotover," he said, over his shoulder, "I don't want to hurry
you, my dear boy, but perhaps it would be as well if you'd just go
round to the stables and take a look at the horses."

Then, as the gentleman addressed moved away, escorted by his host and
followed in admiring silence by Godfrey Ormiston, he repeated, almost
querulously:--"Foolish things mysteries. Nothing in them, as a rule,
when you thrash them out. Mares' nests generally. And that reminds me,
I hear young"--Lord Fallowfeild's air of worry became accentuated--"young
Calmady's got home again at last."

"Yes," Mrs. Cathcart said, "Richard and his mother have been at
Brockhurst nearly a month."

"Have they, though?" exclaimed Lord Fallowfeild. He fidgeted. "It's a
painful subject to refer to, but I should be glad to know the truth of
these nasty, uncomfortable rumours about young Calmady. You see there
was that question of his and my youngest daughter's