"Ah, but I meant when I have dealt with them for other people," replied Sir Francis, joining in the laugh. "And if I did get back to London, I should have nothing to live upon," resumed Gerard. "The pittance that I half starve upon in these cheap places, I might wholly starve upon there. I often wish I could get employed as a clerk; no one but myself knows how thankful I should be. But with this other thing hanging over my head, who'd give me a recommendation, and who'd take me without one!" "Well, well, we will see, Gerard. It is a long lane that has no turning." They talked yet further, and then Gerard said good-night. And in the morning Sir Francis Netherleigh heard the welcome tidings that the wind had gone down sufficiently to allow the mail-packet to venture out. So he went in her to England. CHAPTER XXXIII. DESPAIR. The year had gone on, and the season was at its height. In the breakfast-room at Sir Francis Netherleigh's house in Grosvenor Square sat his sister, waiting to pour out the coffee. Ah, how different things were from what they had been in his wife's time! Then he had to wait upon himself at breakfast, often to take it alone; now he always found his sister down before him. Mary Lynn was good-looking as ever, her wonderful grey eyes, as Miss Upton used to call them, were not a whit less beautiful; but the mirth of early days had given place to a calm, sad seriousness. It could be seen that some great sorrow had passed over her heart and left its traces there for ever. Just now, as she laid down a letter she had been reading, her face wore an especial air of sadness, somewhat of perplexity. Sir Francis entered. "I have a letter from Netherleigh, Francis, from Alice Dalrymple," began Mary, after they had said good-morning. "Mrs. Dalrymple has met with an accident, and--but I will read you what she says," she broke off, taking up the letter. "'Selina was driving mamma in a borrowed pony-chaise yesterday; the pony took fright at a passing caravan--a huge thing, Selina says, covered with brooms and baskets and shining tins--ran away, and overturned the chaise. Selina was not hurt, she never is; but mamma has received, it is feared, some internal injury. She asks if you will come down to her, dear Mary. Lose no time; you know how she values you!'" "Selina was driving carelessly, I expect," observed Sir Francis. "Of course I will go down. But it cannot be today, Francis?" "Not very well," he answered, as he took his cup of coffee from her hand. "What should I do with the crowd, coming here tonight, without a hostess to receive them?" For Sir Francis Netherleigh had bidden the great world to his house that evening. Such invitations from him were rare. This was the first he had given since his wife's departure and his mother's death.