The Duchess is familiarly known as the "Conversational Brook" from the fact that when once she begins she goes on forever. Hence, being in my then frame of mind, it was with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed the summons of her parasol and crossed over to the brougham. "So she's gone away?" was her greeting as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth," she nodded, "I happened to hear something about her, you know." It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess generally does "happen to hear" something about everything. "And you actually allowed yourself to be bullied into making that promise--Dick! Dick! I'm ashamed of you." "How was I to help myself?" I began. "You see--" "Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting me affectionately with the handle of her parasol, "it wasn't to be expected, of course. You see, I know her--many, many years ago I was at school with Agatha Warburton." "But she probably didn't use lorgnettes then, and--" "Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky' I used to call it," nodded the Duchess. "And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear child--and to such a horrid, quiet little place, too, where she'll have nobody to talk to but that young Selwyn. "I beg pardon, Duchess, but--" "Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere. Agatha has been scheming for it a long time, under the rose, you know. Of course, it would be a good match, in a way--wealthy, and all that--but I must say he bores me horribly--so very serious and precise!" "Really!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say--" "I expect she will have them married before they know it--Agatha's dreadfully determined. Her character lies in her nose and chin." "But Lisbeth is not a child--she has a will of her own, and--" "True," nodded the Duchess, "but is it a match for Agatha's chin? And then, too, it is rather more than possible that you are become the object of her bitterest scorn by now. "But, my dear Duchess--" "Oh, Agatha is a born diplomat. Of course she has written before this, and without actually saying it has managed to convey the fact that you are a monster of perfidy; and Lisbeth, poor child, is probably crying her eyes out, or imagining she hates you, is ready to accept the first proposal she receives out of pure pique." "Great heavens!" I exclaimed, "what on earth can I do?" "You might go fishing," the Duchess suggested thoughtfully. "Fishing!" I repeated, "--er, to be sure, but--" "Riverdale is a very pretty place they tell me," pursued the Duchess in the same thoughtful tone; "there is a house there, a fine old place called Fane Court. It stands facing the river, and adjoins Selwyn Park, I believe." "Duchess," I exclaimed, as I jotted down the address upon my cuff, "I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never--" "Tut, tut!" said her Grace. "I think I'll start to-day, and--" "You really couldn't do better," nodded the duchess. * * * * *