“My dear boy, I shall be delighted to do so. I am afraid I have been rather uncivil to him. If you wish it, I will go at once and apologize to him.” “Oh, no,” cried Jennie, “you must not do that; but if you can help him without jeopardizing the service, I, for one, will be very glad.” “So shall I,” said Donal. The old man took out his card-case, and on the back of his card scribbled a most cordial invitation to Hardwick, asking him to call on him. He handed this to Jennie, and said,-- “Tell Mr. Hardwick that I shall be pleased to see him at any time.” “And now,” said Lord Donal, “you must let us both escort you home in the carriage.” “No, no. I shall take a hansom, and will go directly to the office of the _Bugle_, for Mr. Hardwick will be there by this time.” “But we can drive you there.” “No, please.” She held out her hand to Sir James and said, with the least bit of hesitation before uttering the last word, “Good night--uncle.” “Good night, my dear,” said the old man, “and God bless you,” he added with a tenderness which his appearance, so solemn and stately, left one unprepared for. Lord Donal saw his betrothed into a hansom, protesting all the while at thus having to allow her to go off unprotected. “What an old darling he is,” murmured Jennie, ignoring his protests. “I think if Mr. Hardwick had allowed me to look after the interests of the paper at the Foreign Office, Sir James would not have snubbed me.” “If the Foreign Office dared to do such a thing, it would hear of something not to its advantage from the Diplomatic Service; and so, goodnight, my dear.” And, with additions, the nephew repeated the benediction of the uncle. Jennie drove directly to the office of the _Daily Bugle_, and, for the last time, mounting the stairs, entered the editorial rooms. She found Mr. Hardwick at his desk, and he sprang up quickly on seeing who his visitor was. “Ah, you have returned,” he cried. “You didn’t telegraph to me, so I suppose that means failure.” “I don’t know, Mr. Hardwick. It all depends on whether or not your object was exactly what you told me it was.” “And what was that? I think I told you that my desire was to get possession of the document which was being transmitted from St. Petersburg to London.” “No; you said the object was the mollifying of old Sir James Cardiff, of the Foreign Office.” “Exactly; that was the ultimate object, of course.” “Very well. Read this card. Sir James gave it to me at Charing Cross Station less than half an hour ago.” The editor took the card, turned it over in his hands once or twice, and read the cordial message which the old man had scribbled on the back of it. “Then you have succeeded,” cried Hardwick. “You got the document; but why did you give it to Sir James yourself, instead of letting me hand it to him?”