“You can be, if you like; but perhaps you now reserve all your witty sayings for your stories. Are you writing anything at present?” (Stereotyped question to author.) “No, not at present,” rather stiffly. “I did not know you knew the Wests. Maddie, dear,” raising her voice, “you never told me that you and Mr. Wynne were acquaintances.” Madeline affected not to hear, and stooped to pick up the tea-cosy, and hide a face which had grown haggard; whilst Mr. West, who had gathered that Wynne was a rising man, and that his books were getting talked about, invited him to come and sit near him, and tell him if there was anything going on--anything in the evening papers? “You see, I’m still a bit of an invalid,” indicating a walking-stick; “shaky on my pins, and not allowed to go to my club. I’ve had a very sharp attack, and I’m only waiting till the weather is a little milder to start for the south of France.” He had taken quite a fancy to this Wynne (and he did not often fall in love at first sight). Madeline looked on as she handed her husband a cup of tea, by her parent’s orders, and was spellbound with amazement and trepidation to see Laurence and her father, seated side by side, amiably talking politics, both being, as it providentially happened, of the same party. This was to her almost as startling a spectacle as if an actual miracle had been performed in the drawing-room before her eyes. That her attention strayed in one particular direction did not escape Mrs. Leach’s observation. Could this be----But no, he was far too presentable, he was evidently one of the Wynnes of Rivals Wynne; she herself saw the strong family likeness. He was absolutely at his ease, he scarcely noticed Miss West, though she glanced repeatedly at him, was looking pale and agitated, talked extreme nonsense, and filled cups at random. No, no; this man was _not_ the mysterious friend. No such luck for Madeline; and, if he had been, he never could have had the nerve to walk boldly and alone into the very lion’s den. But he probably knew the real Simon Pure, and was a go-between and messenger. Yes, that was it. Having thus disposed of her question to her entire satisfaction, and carefully studied Mr. Wynne, from the parting of his hair to the buttons of his boots, she turned and exercised her fascinations on the colonel, who was one of her sworn admirers.