Mr. Dawson Farley had a flat in Victoria Street. He came down at nine o'clock and leisurely opened his letters. The one from Margaret, telling him of her engagement to Tom, was on the top. Tom, who had known his private address, had advised her to send it there and not to the theatre. Mr. Farley started when he read it. "Now, this is the devil!" he said. "I thought that girl couldn't be in London without getting into some mischief. It's lucky I wrote and told Hilda about her; but I expect it's too late to do anything. It may make a serious difference, for I can't stand that wriggling snake, Lena, in any house in which I have to live. Why the deuce hasn't Hilda written?" he went on, as he looked through his letters; "perhaps wants to take time or to worry one a little, but I didn't think she was that sort of woman." Almost as he said the last word, the door opened and Mrs. Lakeman walked in. She wore a billycock hat and a long cloak; she looked almost rowdy. "Dawson," she said, with her odd, crooked smile, "I thought it better to come up and answer your letter in person; I travelled all night and have just arrived." "You dear woman," he said, feeling that he ought to be equal to the occasion. "I knew you would do the very best thing." "I'm going to do the very worst," she answered; "I'm going to refuse you." "Refuse me?" he exclaimed. "Only because I don't feel like marrying, dear friend," and she rolled some feeling into her voice. "Have you forgotten that I am an old frump with gray hair?" She took off the billycock hat and bent her head, just as she had done to Gerald Vincent. "I don't care," he said, "I want you." He put an arm round her shoulder in a well-considered manner. "I am very fond of you," she said; "I have a great affection for you, but I'm not going to be the laughing-stock of the town--a middle-aged frump marrying an actor a little younger than herself. Let's go on as we are, anyhow till Lena is married." "Then what did you come up for?" "It was quite time," she answered, dryly. "I suppose you know the Vincent girl is engaged to Tom Carringford?" "She has just written to tell me, and thrown up the theatre business." "She sha'n't have him, the little devil!" Mrs. Lakeman exclaimed. "I'll take good care of that; I have," she added, "for he's at Pitlochry by this time." "At Pitlochry?" Farley exclaimed. "Having breakfast with Lena. Lena, in a muslin morning gown lying on a sofa--Tom holding her hand--the rest you can imagine." "This is madness! I don't understand." Mrs. Lakeman's blue eyes were full of wickedness. "I knew something was wrong from his letters, so I have been careful to tell him that Lena wasn't well, and to make a few remarks about Margaret Vincent and the young grocer at Guildford, which I didn't think would please him altogether. As he didn't come and didn't write, I thought it as well yesterday morning to telegraph and let him know that she was dangerously ill."