Having come to the bazaar chiefly in order to push his acquaintance with Lord Alistair, Mr. St. Maur was not the man to be balked of his prey. “Grand success, this, isn’t it, Stuart?” he bawled out from afar, as he hustled his way through the throng. Much as Stuart disliked his follower, he failed to give him credit for the naked singleness of his aims. Had he fully understood the Irishman’s character, he would have got rid of him before this by the easy expedient of introducing him to his brother. Once anchored to the coat-tails of a Duke, St. Maur would have left a mere younger brother severely alone. As it was, Lord Alistair saw no way of repelling the intruder except by a harshness which was not in his nature. Mr. St. Maur shook hands effusively, and then, finding he was not going to be introduced to Lord Alistair’s companion, began enlarging on the prospects of the movement. “I consider this affair will launch us as a serious party,” he declared. “The public will begin to reckon with us. It will soon be time to think of a Parliamentary candidature. What do you say, Stuart?” Alistair shrugged his shoulders. “I should think you would get about ten votes in any constituency in England.” “Ah, but what about Scotland? There is a feeling up there that might be appealed to. If a man like yourself, now, a member of an old Highland family, were to stand in your own part of the country, don’t you think the clansmen would rally round you?” “You forget that I should have my brother’s influence dead against me. He is a member of the Government.” “He would have to disavow you officially, of course. But privately, you know? Don’t you think the Duke might be brought to show some sympathy for the movement?” “He would simply laugh at it, I expect,” said Stuart. “The Duke of Gloucester does not laugh at it,” returned the other. Alistair’s face darkened at the name, and he cast down his eyes. “How do you know that?” he asked. St. Maur swelled with importance. “I happen to have private information that he watches the proceedings of the Guild with the closest attention. He has everything that appears in the press about us sent him by a press-cutting agency.” “I wish I had known that before,” said Alistair. And, turning to Hero, he explained: “I have let them have an autograph letter of the Prince’s to sell at one of the stalls.” The absurdity of this did not strike Hero so much as its ingratitude. “A letter from the Prince to you, do you mean?” she asked, with an accent of reproach. “Yes; I used to know him very well when we were boys. I came across it the other day among some old papers. But I shouldn’t like him to hear that I had let it be sold.” A purpose had swiftly formed in Hero’s mind. “Whereabouts is the stall?” she inquired. “Over here.”