"I don’t know why I am here, or why I am going there," she said. "I cannot imagine why any of us are doing anything but hiding our disgraced heads in the remoter parts of the country, while Penelope flaunts a black, adopted, illegitimate child in some peculiar part of Lincolnshire, while she is being chased on motor-cars by remorseful scoundrels, of whom I saw about a dozen as we left Spilsborough. Little did I think that I should be running after her with Augustin and you, bishop, while the duke stays at Goring saying she is sport, and Robert is with her when he ought to be at home with Mr. Guthrie learning to spell. And as a result of Penelope’s being away like this, that disgraceful Chloe Cadwallader, of whom I shall always have the lowest opinion, is living in her house in Piccadilly, and I dare say spending her money right and left. The marchioness said she knew, on the highest authority, that this was so. The marchioness always goes on the principle of believing the worst, though, of course, she hopes the best. I hope the best for Penelope, but I’m sure the worst is before us. I’m sure of it." The bishop asked her to cheer up, and Augustin stroked her hand to calm her. But nothing calmed or cheered her. "I am calm," she said. "I am even peaceful. What can be worse than the worst? I am cheerful, for I believe there is a better world than this, in which even a duchess may find some kind of rest on the highest authority. I shall be glad to go there, and leave you all." "Don’t say so," said Augustin. "I do say so," said the duchess. "I say it firmly and with faith. You don’t dare to deny there is a better world than this, Augustin?" "Certainly not, in the presence of the bishop," replied Augustin. "Though, in looking out of the windows, I should not be surprised to learn that there is a more exciting spot than Spilsby." For they had arrived. "_I_ will make inquiries," said the bishop, "while you look after the duchess in the waiting-room. I see that my wishes have been attended to. I telegraphed for a carriage to be in attendance, and it is in attendance. I will speak with the driver." He spoke to the driver, who was much intimidated by the apron and the gaiters of the clerical dignitary. "This is the carriage I ordered, I think," said the bishop. "I want to drive to—to Lady Penelope Brading’s house. Do you know it?" "No, sir," said the driver. "I never heard owt of it, sir." "Dear me, dear me!" said the bishop. "Well, well! But that is easily explicable, my good man, for my young friend is in the peculiar position of having several names. This is rare; yes, rare I admit, but not altogether so very rare. Can you tell me if there is any one lately come to this neighbourhood known, let us say, as Mrs.—Mrs. Plant, for instance?" "No, sir, there be not as I knows," said the driver. "Or Mrs. Gordon, shall I say?" The driver scratched his head. "I never heard of her," he replied.