“She was Miss Weedon till an hour ago; now she’s Mrs. Wantage! I brought her in from the lodge this morning, attended the wedding, and saw the runaway couple off ten minutes ago.” “Bless my soul!” Sir Richard gave a little stagger. “What! eh? You don’t mean it! I say, what a fellow you are for being in the thick of rows and bothers!” “Oh, no bother to _me_,” replied his nephew carelessly; “I’m only a chauffeur, not a chaperon; but I must say I’m awfully glad Wantage brought it off!” “And what a haul--half a million!” “Yes; but, upon my honour, I don’t believe he was thinking of the money. She’s an uncommonly nice girl.” Sir Richard’s face expressed scornful incredulity. “Pity you didn’t go in for her yourself, eh!” Then, after a meditative pause, “I expect there will be a holy row! What will her mother say?” “That remains to be heard! She wanted her daughter to marry that drunken little sweep, Vippen--he’s staying there now.” “Lord Vippen?” He nodded. “And it’s my painful duty to face the music, and deliver the fatal letter.” Sir Richard gave a long whistle. “Yes; it’s a job I don’t half fancy. Well, I must be getting a move on--the car is just outside.” Then, holding out his hand, “I’m awfully glad to have seen you, Uncle Dick, and looking so fit.” “I say, Owen,” suddenly taking him by the arm and leading him aside, “_I’ve_ had enough of this.” His nephew stared at him interrogatively. “Let’s cry quits--time’s up--all but a few weeks! You have done uncommonly well, and I was an old idiot.” “No, I don’t think so, sir. I believe it was quite a sound idea; but, since you’ve given me the word, I must confess I’m not sorry it’s finished.” “And I’ll tell you what, my boy--you gave me a jolly good fright the time Masham was killed.” “Nothing to my own fright when the car turned over; but, I say, I must be off to Hillstan--it’s thirty miles away--and do my errand. Where shall I find you when I come back? I’m fairly safe to get the kick out, and I expect I’ll have to walk to our nearest drivelling little station.” “Look here, Owen, I’ll hire a car. I’ll telephone now, and go with you, and this other can fetch us back--we’ll have a good talk.” Owen was secretly amused, though his face was impassive. Here was Uncle Dick, extraordinarily eager for his company, actually chartering a motor, and grudging him out of his sight for a couple of hours! He never dreamt of the old man’s hungry heart--how, at times, life seemed empty and hopeless--and he had nothing to look forward to but the grave.