This telegram Lord Grayleigh showed to Mrs. Ogilvie before she went to bed that night. "He has consented to go, as of course you are well aware," said Lord Grayleigh, "and he comes here to see me to-morrow. But I would not say anything about his departure for Queensland to your little daughter, until after his visit. He may have something to say in the matter. Let him, if he wishes it, be the one to break it to her." "But why should not the child know? How ridiculous you are!" "That is exactly as her father pleases," replied Lord Grayleigh. "I have a kind of intuition that he may want to tell her himself. Anyhow, I trust you will oblige me in the matter." Mrs. Ogilvie pouted. She was not enjoying herself as much at Grayleigh Manor as she had expected, and, somehow or other, she felt that she was in disgrace. This was by no means an agreeable sensation. She wondered why she was not in higher spirits. To visit Australia nowadays was a mere nothing. Her husband would be back again, a rich man, in six months at the farthest. During those six months she herself might have a good time. There were several country houses where she might visit. Her visiting list was already nearly full. She would take Sibyl with her, although Sibyl sometimes was the reverse of comforting; but it looked effective to see the handsome mother and the beautiful child together, and Sibyl, when she did not go too far, said very pathetic and pretty things about her. Oh yes, she and her little daughter would have a good time, while the husband and father was earning money for them in Australia: while the husband and father was raking in gold, they might really enjoy themselves. As she thought of this, Mrs. Ogilvie felt so light-hearted that she could have skipped. Those debts which had weighed so on what she was pleased to call her conscience, would be liquidated once and for all, and in the future she would have plenty of money. It was the be-all of existence to her feeble soul. She would have it in abundance in the time which lay before her. "Philip is a wise man. It was very silly of him to hesitate and make a fuss," she thought; "but he has decided wisely, as I knew he would. I shall give him a kiss when I see him, and tell him that I am quite pleased with him." She went to bed, therefore, cheerful, and the next morning put on her very prettiest dress in order to meet her husband. Ogilvie walked from the little station, which was only half a mile away. Mrs. Ogilvie, going slowly up the avenue, saw him coming to meet her. She stood under the shade of a great overhanging beech tree, and waited until he appeared. "Well, Mildred, and how are you?" said her husband. He took her hand, and, bending forward, brushed the lightest of kisses against her cheek. "Quite well," she replied. "Is not the day pleasant? I am so glad about everything, Phil. But you don't look quite the thing yourself. Have you taken cold or suffered from one of those nasty rheumatic attacks?"