Mr. Maturin delayed answering while he thoughtfully considered the ceiling of the great hall, which was so high as to refuse itself to exact scrutiny. At the gaming-club that night he had immediately recognised the formidable old gentleman; for the great lean height, the sabre-wound across the left cheek, the mass of loosely brushed white hair and the savage blue eyes under bushy white eyebrows, were the well-known marks of Sir Guy Conduit de Gramercy, a _seigneur_ of a past century who made no secret of the fact that he disdained any part in this. For a passing moment Mr. Maturin had wondered what the proud old gentleman was doing in those depths; but now, revealed as the donor of the magnificent note, he could not but suspect what had brought Sir Guy down from his contemptuous seclusion. Sir Guy’s descent, however, was far from pleasing to Beau Maturin, for it always offended that man as much to see pride humbled and the mighty fallen as to watch the lowly being exalted and the humble getting above themselves. Mr. Maturin was not a religious man; but he was decidedly one who had what he called “let’s face it, a code of ethics.” “Why, I’m serious enough,” said he at last. “I take your gift----” “Ha!” snapped the old gentleman. “In the spirit in which you give it, Sir Guy.” “And what the devil can you know of that, sir?” “Nothing, nothing!” said Mr. Maturin peaceably, and without more ado old Sir Guy led the way into a wide, dim room lined with many books in rare bindings, for here was a small part of the famous de Gramercy library. From the shadows a lady emerged. Very beautiful this lady must have been in her youth, but she was no longer young and now a sad, gentle dignity was the flower of her personality, half hiding, while it half revealed, the lovely dead graces of her youth. It was plain to see, however, that she was not in her best looks this night, for her eyes were as though strained with some pitiless anxiety; and, distantly acknowledging Mr. Maturin’s bow, she retired again into the shadows of the room, for it is only in the East that vanity dies with youth. Said old Sir Guy: “I believe you have met my daughter-in-law. She and my granddaughter are staying with me for a few days.” From her shadows Mrs. de Gramercy spoke swiftly, almost breathlessly, as though she would at all costs and quickly be done with something she must say: “Mr. Maturin, I have tried my best to dissuade Sir Guy from taking this step. I feel there _must_ be a way of effecting our--our wish other than one which must offend you so deeply----” The voice of the old gentleman fell like a bar of iron across the poor lady’s swift light speech. “Eleanour, you will kindly leave this to me, as you promised. And Mr. Maturin is, I fancy, past taking offence at the truth.” “That depends on the truth,” said Mr. Maturin in a reasonable way. “So far, I am quite mystified.” “You lie, Mr. Maturin. You are not mystified.” “Very well, sir. I lie. I am not mystified.”