Five minutes later, Miss Brandon burst into the room in her usual impulsive fashion. Lady Dimsdale was standing at one of the windows. It was quite enough for Elsie to find there was some one to talk to—more especially when that some one was Lady Dimsdale, whom she looked upon as the most charming woman in the world. At once she began to rattle on after her usual fashion. ‘Thank goodness, those hateful exercises are over for to-day. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. Arma virumque cano. How I do detest Latin! My grandmother didn’t know a word of it, and she was the most delightful old lady I ever knew. Besides, where’s the use of it? When Charley and I are married, I can’t talk to him in Latin—nor even to the butcher’s boy, nor the fishmonger. Perhaps, if I were to speak to my poodle in dog-Latin, he might understand me.’ Then, with a sudden change of manner, she said: ‘Dear Lady Dimsdale, what is the matter?’ for Laura had turned, and the traces of tears were still visible around her eyes. ‘Why, I do believe you have been’—— ‘Yes, crying—that’s the only word for it,’ answered Laura with a smile. ‘Do tell me what it is. Nothing serious?’ ‘Nothing more serious than the last chapter of a foolish love-story.’ She had taken up a book instinctively. ‘I’m awfully glad it’s nothing worse. Love-stories that make one cry are delicious. I always feel better after a good cry.’ Her sharp eyes were glancing over the title of the book in Lady Dimsdale’s hand. ‘“Buchan’s _Domestic Medicine_,”’ she read out aloud. ‘Dear Lady Dimsdale, surely this is not the book that’—— She was suddenly silent. The room had a bow-window, the casement of which stood wide open this sunny morning. Elsie had heard voices on the terrace outside. ‘That’s dear old nunky’s voice,’ she said. ‘And—yes—no—I do believe it is though!’ She crossed to the window and peeped out from behind the curtains. Stumping slowly along the terrace, assisted by his thick Malacca, came Captain Bowood. By his side marched a dark-bearded military-looking inspector of police, dressed in the regulation blue braided frock-coat and peaked cap. They were engaged in earnest conversation. ‘An inspector of police! What can be the matter? I do believe they are coming here.’ So spoke Elsie; but when she looked round, expecting a response, she found herself alone. Lady Dimsdale had slipped out of the room. The voices came nearer. Elsie seated herself at the table, opened a book, ruffled her hair, and pretended to be poring over her lessons. The door opened, and Captain Bowood, followed by the inspector, entered the room. ‘Pheugh! Enough to frizzle a nigger,’ ejaculated the former, as he mopped his forehead with his yellow bandana handkerchief. Then perceiving Elsie, he said, as he pinched one of her ears, ‘Ha, Poppet, you here?’ ‘Yes, nunky; and dreadfully puzzled I am. I want to find out in what year the Great Pyramid was built. Do, please, tell me.’