"I'm so awfully sorry to be so soon," said Miss Lambert. "It's only twenty minutes past ten; the clocks have all gone wrong at home. James broke out again yesterday; he went out and took far, far too much; isn't it dreadful? I don't know what we are to do with him, and he wound up the clocks last night, and I believe he has broken them all, at least they won't go. Father has gone away again; he is down in Sussex paying a visit to a Miss Pursehouse, we met her in Paris. She asked me to come too, but I had to refuse because my dressmaker--I mean, Susannah couldn't be left by herself, she smashes things so. She fell on the kitchen stairs this morning, bringing the breakfast things up--are you busy? and are you sure I'm not bothering you or interfering with clients and things? I arrived here really at ten minutes past ten, and walked up and down outside till people began to stare at me, so I came in." "Not a bit busy," said Mr Hancock; "delighted you've come so early. Is that chair comfortable?" "Quite, thanks." "Sure you won't take this easy-chair?" "No, no; this is a delightful chair. Who is that nice old man who showed me in?" "Bridgewater, my chief clerk. Yes, he is a very good sort of man Bridgewater; he's been with us now a number of years." "I like him, because he always smiles at me and looks so friendly and so funny. He's the kind of man one feels one would like to knit something for; a--muffler or mittens. I will, next Christmas, if he wouldn't be offended." "Offended! Good heavens, no, he'd be delighted--perfectly delighted, I'm sure, perfectly. Come in!" "A telegram, sir," spoke Bridgewater's voice. He always "sir'd" his master in the presence of strangers. "Excuse me," said Mr Hancock, putting on his glasses and opening the telegram. He read it carefully, frowned, then smiled, and handed it to Fanny. "Am I to read it?" said the girl. "Please." Fanny read:-- "I relinquish fishing-rights. Make the best terms with Lambert you can.--BEVAN." "Isn't it nice of him?" she said without evincing any surprise; "he told me he would when he called." "Told you he would?" "Yes." "When did you see Mr Bevan?" "Why, he called--didn't I tell you?--oh no, I forgot--he called, and he was _awfully_ nice. Quite the nicest man I've met for a long time. He stayed to luncheon and tea and supper." "Was your father at home?" "No." "I would rather this had not happened," said Mr Hancock in a slightly pained voice. "Mr Bevan is a gentleman for whom I have great respect, but considering the absence of your father, the absence of a host--er--er--conventionalities, um----" "Oh, he didn't seem to mind," said Fanny; "he knew father was away, and took us just as we were. He's awfully rich, I suppose, but he was just as pleasant as if he were poor--came marketing and carried the basket; and, I declare to goodness, if I had known we had such a jolly cousin before, I'd have gone and hunted him up myself in the--'Albany,' isn't it?"