g the
broad stairs slowly, his face changed from its late look of tenderness
to one of stern and patient coldness, which was evidently its habitual
expression. He addressed himself to Briggs, who was lounging aimlessly
in the hall.

"Her ladyship is out?"

"Yes, my lord! Gone to the theayter with Sir Francis Lennox."

Lord Winsleigh turned upon him sharply. "I did not ask you, Briggs,
_where_ she had gone, or _who_ accompanied her. Have the goodness to
answer my questions simply, without adding useless and unnecessary
details."

Briggs's mouth opened a little in amazement at his master's peremptory
tone, but he answered promptly--

"Very good, my lord!"

Lord Winsleigh paused a moment, and seemed to consider. Then he said--

"See that her ladyship's supper is prepared in the dining-room. She will
most probably return rather late. Should she inquire for me, say I am at
the Carlton."

Again Briggs responded, "Very good, my lord!" And, like an exemplary
servant as he was, he lingered about the passage while Lord Winsleigh
entered his library, and, after remaining there some ten minutes or so,
came out again in hat and great coat. The officious Briggs handed him
his cane, and inquired--

"'Ansom, my lord?"

"Thanks, no. I will walk."

It was a fine moonlight night, and Briggs stood for some minutes on the
steps, airing his shapely calves and watching the tall, dignified figure
of his master walking, with the upright, stately bearing which always
distinguished him, in the direction of Pall Mall. Park Lane was full of
crowding carriages with twinkling lights, all bound to the different
sources of so-called "pleasure" by which the opening of the season is
distinguished. Briggs surveyed the scene with lofty indifference,
sniffed the cool breeze, and, finding it somewhat chilly, re-entered the
house and descended to the servant's hall. Here all the domestics of the
Winsleigh household were seated at a large table loaded with hot and
savory viands,--a table presided over by a robust and perspiring lady,
with a very red face and sturdy arms bare to the elbow.

"Lor', Mr. Briggs!" cried this personage, rising respectfully as he
approached, "'ow late you are! Wot 'ave you been a-doin' on? 'Ere I've
been a-keepin' your lamb-chops and truffles 'ot all this time, and if
they's dried up 'taint my fault, nor that of the hoven, which is as good
a hoven as you can wish to bake in. . . ."

She paused breathless, and Briggs