Tall, spare, soldierly, the descendant of the old Gray Bagot was good to see. His hair was fair and close cut; his complexion clear and fresh; his nose aquiline. His mouth was well shaped; his voice pleasant; his grey eyes, set far apart. It was, indeed, his steady, grave gaze which was so notable. He always looked you in the face and expected to be so regarded. He liked to see, and was perfectly content to be seen. If you did as he expected, you had your reward. His character, his various emotions were spread before you in such print as a child could read. If he liked you, you saw it in his eyes, and there was a friendship made in a second of time. If he disliked you, you saw it, and that was that. But he never disliked anyone without just cause. As a matter of fact, he was generous to a fault. He looked his best, I fancy, upon a horse, but so does many a man. He had a fine, upright carriage, and his shoulders were broad. Honest, unassuming, dignified, he did his blood credit. That Chancery suited him is indisputable: his looks, his bearing, his ways agreed with her: and Chancery was a show place. Willoughby tried not to hasten upon the sixth afternoon. His working hours were from seven till four o’clock, but, since the measure he gave was always good, he seldom left the apartments till nearer five. To-day, however, there had come no visitors to interrupt his labours, and by a quarter-past four there was no more to be conveniently done. It follows that he reached the lodge rather before he was expected—in fact, in comfortable time to witness the delivery of a pair of pyjamas, four soft shirts and six handkerchiefs to his valet by his _repasseuse_. “Hullo,” said Spring cheerfully. “I guess you never dreamed I could iron.” She turned to the groom, who was standing upon one leg. “That’s all to-day, William. The other two need mending, so I’ll do them to-morrow.” “Very good, m’m.” With an apologetic look at his master, William made good his escape. “You will do nothing of the sort,” said Willoughby. “If I’d had the faintest idea——” “Live and let live,” said Spring. “It amuses me and it doesn’t hurt you, so why deprive a poor servant of her innocent fun?” She slid a cool arm through his. “And now take me into the garden and give me a match. By the time you’ve changed, William will have brought us some tea.” Willoughby did as he was bid. It was when the meal was over that Spring put her elbows on the table and knitted her brows. “I want your advice.” “That’s very easy,” said Bagot. “Let sleeping suits lie, and Grooms of the Chambers do their own dirty work.” The red lips tightened. “Thanks very much,” said Spring. “Perhaps I ought to have said that the advice I want is upon a matter upon which I value your opinion.” Willoughby considered his finger-nails. “I’ve got an awfully good answer to that,” he said. “A regular winner.” “What?” suspiciously. “Can’t think of it for the moment,” said Willoughby, “but——”