Mrs. Schröder rode home that evening in a happier frame of mind than she had been in for months. She felt that she had effectually settled all Mr. Beresford's pretentious, and that she might meet her husband without the smallest shadow on her brow. Her joy was a little dashed by the receipt of a letter from her husband, which was put into her hand as she alighted from her horse. It said that an Egyptian prince, with whom the house had large transactions, had arrived at Southampton, and that he, Gustav, as representing the house, was compelled to go down and do the honours to him; that he had telegraphed to his brother to relieve him as soon as possible; and that he hoped to be back the next day. Mrs. Schröder's hopes were realised. In the course of the next afternoon a cab drove up to the door in Saxe-Coburg Square, and Mr. Schröder descended from it. His wife, who had rushed to the balcony at the sound of wheels, noticed that his step was slow, and that--a thing she had never seen him do before--he leant upon the cabman's arm. When he entered the room she rushed to him, and, embracing him, asked him how he was. "I am well, my darling," he answered; "quite well, but that I have rheumatism, or something like it. A curious pain--dead, dull, stupid pain--in my left arm and shoulder. Rheumatism, of course! And you, Barbara, my dear; you are well? That's right; no news with you, of course? Ah! I have been thinking much about you in the train, and we will talk to-morrow of your affairs. Well, Alice, what news? Did you persuade Barbara to drive yesterday?" "No, she refused again; so I went out on horseback." "Ah, ah! that was right. Alone?" "I went alone; but I met Mr. Beresford." "Beresford! I hate that name; he is a bad man. Bad! bad!" And Mr. Schröder shook his hand in the air, and was obviously very much excited. "Gustav," said Mrs. Schröder, "I'm very sorry that--" "Ah, you don't know! More of this Beresford another time. A bad man, my dear! Now I must look through my letters. Dinner at seven, eh?" And with a bow, Mr. Schröder descended to his library. The clock had struck seven, the gong had boomed through the house, and Alice and Barbara were standing at the dining-table; the place at the head being vacant. "You had better tell your master, Pilkington," said Mrs. Schröder to the great butler; "he is probably in his dressing-room." The great butler condescended to inform his mistress that he did not think his master had left the libery. Mrs. Schröder then bade him find his miter, and tell him they were waiting dinner. The butler left the room, and the next moment came running back, with a face whiter than his own neckcloth. Barbara saw him ere he had crossed the threshold; in an instant she saw that something had happened; and motioning the butler to precede her, walked to the library, followed by Mrs. Schröder.