"I should have been here earlier," he began, "but I had the steward with me on business; it is little enough I have attended to since my brother's death. Dear Mrs. Ashton! I grieve to hear this poor account of you. You are indeed looking ill." "I am so ill, Percival, that I doubt whether I shall ever be better in this world. It is my last chance, this going away to a warmer place until winter has passed." He was bending towards her in earnest sympathy, all himself again; his dark blue eyes very tender, his pleasant features full of concern as he gazed on her face. And somehow, looking at that attractive countenance, Mrs. Ashton's doubts went from her. "But what I have said is to you alone," she resumed. "My husband and children do not see the worst, and I refrain from telling them. A little word of confidence between us, Val." "I hope and trust you may come back cured!" he said, very fervently. "Is it the fever that has so shattered you?" "It is the result of it. I have never since been able to recover strength, but have become weaker and more weak. And you know I was in ill health before. We leave on Monday morning for Cannes." "For Cannes?" he exclaimed. "Yes. A place not so warm as some I might have gone to; but the doctors say that will be all the better. It is not heat I need; only shelter from our cold northern winds until I can get a little strength into me. There's nothing the matter with my lungs; indeed, I don't know that anything is the matter with me except this terrible weakness." "I suppose Anne goes with you?" "Oh yes. I could not go without Anne. The doctor will see us settled there, and then he returns." A thought crossed Lord Hartledon: how pleasant if he and Anne could have been married, and have made this their wedding tour. He did not speak it: Mrs. Ashton would have laughed at his haste. "How long shall you remain away?" he asked. "Ah, I cannot tell you. I may not live to return. If all goes well--that is, if there should be a speedy change for the better, as the medical men who have been attending me think there may be--I shall be back perhaps in April or May. Val--I cannot forget the old familiar name, you see--" "I hope you never will forget it," he warmly interposed. "I wanted very particularly to see you. A strange report was brought here this morning and I determined to mention it to you. You know what an old-fashioned, direct way I have of doing things; never choosing a roundabout road if I can take a straight one. This note was a line asking you to call upon me," she added, taking it from her lap, where it had been lying, and tossing it on to the table, whilst her hearer, his conscience rising up, began to feel a very little uncomfortable. "We heard you had proposed marriage to Lady Maude Kirton." Lord Hartledon's face became crimson. "Who on earth could have invented that?" cried he, having no better answer at hand.