There was a cheer, instantly suppressed, from a Socialist in the band. For just a moment words failed the Lady Beltravers. Then she sank into a chair, and waved her guests away. "The ball is over," she said slowly. "Leave me. My son and I must be alone." One by one, with murmured thanks for a delightful evening, the guests trooped out. Soon mother and son were alone. Lord Beltravers, gazing out of the window, saw the 'cellist laboriously dragging his 'cello across the park. CHAPTER V WEDDED [And now, dear readers, I am in a difficulty. How shall the story go on? The editor of _The Seaside Library_ asks quite frankly for a murder. His idea was that the Lady Beltravers should be found dead in the park next morning and that Gwendolen should be arrested. This seems to me both crude and vulgar. Besides I want a murder for No. XCIX of the series--The Severed Thumb. No, I think I know a better way out.] * * * * * Old John French sat beneath a spreading pear-tree and waited. Early that morning a mysterious note had been brought to him, asking for an interview on a matter of the utmost importance. This was the trysting-place. "I have come," said a voice behind him, "to ask you to beg your daughter----" "_I have come_" cried the Lady Beltravers, "_to ask you_----" "I HAVE COME," shouted her ladyship, "TO----" John French wheeled round in amazement. With a cry the Lady Beltravers shrank back. "Eustace," she gasped--"Eustace, Earl of Turbot!" "Eliza!" "What are you doing here? I came to see John French." "What?" he asked, with his hand to his ear. She repeated her remark loudly several times. "I am John French," he said at last. "When you refused me and married Beltravers I suddenly felt tired of Society; and I changed my name and settled down here as a simple farmer. My daughter helps me on the farm." "Then your daughter is----" "Lady Gwendolen Hake." * * * * * A beautiful double wedding was solemnised at Beltravers in October, the Earl of Turbot leading Eliza, Lady Beltravers, to the altar, while Lord Beltravers was joined in matrimony to the beautiful Lady Gwendolen Hake. There were many presents on both sides, which partook equally of the beautiful and the costly. Lady Gwendolen Beltravers is now the most popular hostess in the county; but to her husband she always seems the simple English milkmaid that he first thought her. Ah! OUT-OF-DOORS XXII. THE FIRST OF SPRING There may be gardeners who can appear to be busy all the year round--doing even in the winter, their little bit under glass. But for myself I wait reverently until the 22nd of March is here. Then, Spring having officially arrived, I step out on to the lawn and summon my head-gardener. "James," I say, "the winter is over at last. What have we got in that big brown-looking bed in the middle there?" "Well, Sir," he says, "we don't seem to have anything do we, like?"