Mrs. Morven rolled up her stocking, arose with deliberate dignity, and sailed forth into the hall, where she found her husband and Sir Richard talking to one another, with great animation, on the subject of rubber shares. “Where,” she inquired, with a dramatic gesture, “is Aurea? and,” casting a keen glance at Sir Richard, “where is Mr. Wynyard?” The General could put two and two together as well as most men. Yes, it would do--nice young fellow--old family--baronetcy--and lots of money; and, nodding at his companion with undisguised significance, he said, as he rose-- “I say, Sir Richard, I suppose you and I will have to make a search-party and bring our young people home!” (Our young people!) Perhaps it is unnecessary to add that the same young people were by no means grateful for their disinterested exertions. That night, at a very late hour, Aurea confided to her aunt that she was engaged to Owen Wynyard. Mrs. Morven, who had accompanied her niece to her bedroom, stood by the table, knitting in hand--an embodiment of the judicial British matron. “Engaged! What nonsense, my dear girl! Why, you don’t know him! Where have you met him?” “Oh yes, I do; I knew him at Ottinge. He was Aunt Bella’s chauffeur for six months.” Mrs. Morven took two hurried steps to a chair, sat down upon it, and gasped. “Your aunts’ chauffeur!” she exclaimed at last. New and bright ideas suddenly dawned upon her mental horizon. She never remembered to have heard her niece mention the chauffeur--though more than once she had spoken disparagingly of the green car. This silence, she now realised, had held a most deadly significance. Yes, she saw it all--the good-looking chauffeur had been at the bottom of _everything_: of Aurea’s indifference to young men, her indifference to amusement--was he the reason that last winter her niece’s brilliant young beauty had become tarnished? She looked up at her to-night; Aurea was supremely lovely. “I see I have stunned you, Aunt Maggie.” “And he was at Monte Carlo. Yes; I now remember him perfectly. I thought the face was familiar; but why a chauffeur?” “For the reason I refer you to his humpy little old uncle; but it’s all right now.” “Of course he is Leila Hesters’ brother, and Sir Richard’s heir--Wynyard of Wynyard. Yes; I remember hearing that the young man was very wild and extravagant, raced and gambled. However, he is remarkably good-looking, and has charming manners; no doubt he has sown his wild oats--I don’t envy him being in your Aunt Parrett’s service for six months!” (These ladies had detested one another.) “_That_ was enough punishment for anything! I suppose he really was employed--not make-believe?” “Make-believe! Employed! I should just think so--washing the car, gardening, clipping hedges, cleaning windows----” “Good heavens!” throwing up her delicate hands; “what possessed him to stay?” Aurea laughed and coloured, and then said-- “Well, Aunt Maggie--I--I suppose _I_ had something to say to it.”