"He is such a bore, isn't he?" she whispered. "I wonder why Agnes asked him? She said nothing to me about his coming. I have known him all my life, we are sort of cousins," she added; and then she laughed. "Well, after all, it is lucky Sir Samuel is here, for, do you know, we quite forgot to wire for a carriage? I only hope they have sent a big brougham." "I am going to walk," Haverford said at once; but this she vetoed. In fact, she had no desire to drive _tête-à-tête_ with the other man. "Oh, _please_ don't," she said. "I beg you will not leave me. And you must not forget I am in your charge to-day." And Haverford had to yield to this argument as a matter of course. The drive was not a pleasant one, however. They were rather crowded in the brougham. Camilla laughed at this discomfort as she had laughed at all the rest, but her voice had a shrill tone; or perhaps Rupert Haverford noticed this for the first time. As soon as they passed into the big hall, he left Mrs. Lancing and Sir Samuel chatting with the others and went to his room. He suddenly felt nervous and bad tempered, and he wanted to be alone. It was a relief not to find his man waiting. Some letters were lying on the table, and he took them up and glanced at them mechanically, then he threw them down and strolled to and fro in the room in the same preoccupied way as he had paced the platform. When his servant came hurrying in, after a while, Haverford was staring into the fire with a rather grim look on his face. "Have everything packed early to-morrow, Harper," he said; "I shall go to town by the first available train in the morning." Then he roused himself and took up his letters again. The first he opened was written on shabby paper in handwriting that was small and curiously formed. It was dated the day before, and had been forwarded from town. "Dear Sir," it ran, "If you please, will you come and see your mother as soon as you return from the country? There was a little accident yesterday when she was out driving, and she was much alarmed. I am glad to say she was not hurt, but her doctor has ordered her to keep very quiet for a day or two. "Yours faithfully, "Caroline Graniger. "P.S. I have asked that this letter shall be forwarded to you." CHAPTER II When Mrs. Lancing went upstairs her hostess went with her. "So the dear motor did go wrong, after all," observed Mrs. Brenton, a trifle triumphantly. "I think I had the best of it in my despised one-horse shay." Camilla threw off her furs with a sigh. "Dear Agnes," she said, "I hate making you conceited, but truth compels me to admit that for once you are right. A motor is a beautiful thing if it goes smoothly, but when it goes wrong it is just the other kind of thing." "Of course I am right," said Mrs. Brenton, as she stirred the fire briskly. She was a plain woman with a hard-riding figure and grey hair neatly plaited, but she had a pair of handsome and kind eyes, and a delightful voice.