“Good news or bad?” said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. “If it is bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don’t want my evening spoilt.” “Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it’s jolly good, about as good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think? that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or some one, you know, is——” “Not dead, not dead?” said Honoria in deep agitation. “Dead as ditch-water,” replied his lordship. “I heard it at the club. There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, ‘Oh, he’s Sir Geoffrey Bingham now. Old Sir Robert’s heir is dead. I saw the telegram myself.’” “Oh, this is almost too good to be true,” said Honoria. “Why, it means eight thousand a year to us.” “I told you it was pretty good,” said her brother. “You ought to stand me a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let’s go and drink to the news. Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must screw myself up.” Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up. “Ah, Lady Honoria,” said the great Person, “I have something to say that will please you, I think,” and he bent towards her, and spoke very low, then, with a little bow, passed on. “What is the old boy talking about?” asked her brother. “Why, what do you think? We are in luck’s way to-night. He says that they are offering Geoffrey the Under Secretaryship of the Home Office.” “He’ll be a bigger prig than ever now,” growled Lord Garsington. “Yes, it is luck though; let us hope it won’t turn.” They sat down to supper, and Lord Garsington, who had already been dining, helped himself pretty freely to champagne. Before them was a silver candelabra and on each of the candles was fixed a little painted paper shade. One of them got wrong, and a footman tried to reach over Lord Garsington’s head to put it straight. “I’ll do it,” said he. “No, no; let the man,” said Lady Honoria. “Look! it is going to catch fire!” “Nonsense,” he answered, rising solemnly and reaching his arm towards the shade. As he touched it, it caught fire; indeed, by touching it he caused it to catch fire. He seized hold of it, and made an effort to put it out, but it burnt his fingers. “Curse the thing!” he said aloud, and threw it from him. It fell flaming in his sister’s dress among the thickest of the filmy laces; they caught, and instantly two wreathing snakes of fire shot up her. She sprang from her seat and rushed screaming down the room, an awful mass of flame! In ten more minutes Lady Honoria had left this world and its pleasures to those who still lived to taste them.