A few days before their departure for the sunny south, Miss West, her father, and several visitors were sitting in the drawing-room, the tall shaded lamps were lit, the fragrant five-o’clock cup was being dispensed by Madeline; who was not, as Lady Rachel remarked, in her usual good spirits. Lady Rachel had thrown off her furs, she had secured a comfortable seat in a becoming light, and was flirting audaciously with a congenial spirit. Mrs. Leach was of course present, and an elderly colonel, Mrs. Veryphast (a smart society matron), her sister, and a couple of Guardsmen--quite a gathering. Mrs. Veryphast was laughing uproariously, Mrs. Leach was solemnly comparing notes respecting dressmakers with Mrs. Veryphast’s sister. The colonel, Mr. West, and Lord Tony, were discussing the share list. The Guardsmen were devoting themselves to the fair tea-maker, when the anteroom door was flung open with a flourish, and a footman announced “Mr. Wynne!” This name was merely that of an ordinary visitor--one of the multitude who flocked to offer incense to his daughter, a partner and a slave, in fact, in the ears of every one save two--Lord Tony’s, and Mrs. Wynne’s. The latter felt as if she had been turned to stone. Had Laurence come to make a scene? to claim her? She breathed hard, living a whole year of anxiety in a few seconds of time. The hand that held the sugar-tongs actually became rigid through fear. She glanced at her father. He, poor innocent individual, was totally unconscious of the crisis, and little supposed that the good-looking young fellow now shaking hands with Madeline was actually his son-in-law! “Oh, how do you do?” faltered Miss West, and raising a swift, appealing, half-terrified look to the stranger. “Papa, let me introduce Mr. Wynne.” Mr. Wynne bowed, uttered a few commonplaces to the invalid, and stood talking to him for some time. Meanwhile, Mr. West noticed with satisfaction the air of refinement and of blue blood (which he adored) in the visitor’s appearance and carriage. Wynne was a good name. No one guessed at the situation, except Lord Tony. His breath was taken away, he looked, he gaped, he repeated the same thing four times over to Mrs. Veryphast--who began to think that this jovial little nobleman was a fool. To see Miss West thus calmly (it looked so at a distance) present her husband to her father, as he afterwards expressed it, “completely floored him.” And the old chap, innocent as an infant, and Wynne as cool as a cucumber, as self-possessed as it was possible to be! And then suddenly Lady Rachel turned round and saw him, and called out in her shrill, clear voice, “Why, Mr. Wynne, is it possible! who would have thought of seeing _you_ here? Come over and sit beside me,” making room on the Chesterfield couch, “and amuse me.” “I’m afraid I’m not a very amusing person,” he replied, accepting her beringed fingers, and standing before her.