"What does it matter how he seems?" she said. "It rests with her--with her. You are a nice boy, Charles, but you are not clever." "Just exactly what my old schoolmaster used to say before he birched me," said Lord Charles. "If you were clever, if you were anything else than unutterably stupid, you would go and see that Leycester changes his clothes," snapped the old lady. "I'll be bound he is sitting or lounging about in those wet things still!" "A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse," said Lord Charles, laughing. "I'll go and do as I am bidden. He will probably tell me to go and mind my own business, but here goes," and he walked off toward the house. He found Leycester in the hands of his valet, being rapidly transferred from wet flannels to orthodox morning attire, and apparently the valet was not having a particularly easy time of it. Lord Charles sank into a chair, and watched the performance with amused interest. "What's the matter Ley?" he asked, when the man left the room for a moment. "You'll drive that poor devil into a lunatic asylum." "He's so confoundedly slow," answered Leycester, brushing away at his hair, which the valet had already arranged, and tugging at a refractory scarf. "I haven't a moment to lose." "May one ask whence this haste?" said Lord Charles, with a smile. Leycester colored slightly. "I've half a mind to tell you, Charlie," he said, "but I can't. I'd better keep it to myself." "I'm glad of it," retorted Lord Charles. "I'm sure it's some piece of madness, and if you told me, you'd want me to take a hand in it." "But that's just it," said Leycester, with a laugh. "You've got to take a hand in it, old fellow." "Oh!" Leycester nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, with a musical laugh. "The best of you, Charlie," he said, "is, that one can always rely on you." Lord Charles groaned. "Don't--don't, Ley!" he implored. "I know that phrase so well; you always were wont to use it when there was some particularly evil piece of business to be done in the old days. Frankly, I'm a reformed character, and I decline to aid and abet you in any further madness." "This isn't madness," said Leycester;--"oh, keep outside a moment, Oliver, I don't want you;--this is not madness, Charlie; it's the sanest thing I've ever done in my life." "I dare say." "It is indeed. Look here! I am going up to London." "I guessed that. Poor London!" "Do stop and listen to me--I haven't a moment to spare. I want you to do a little delicate service for me." "I decline. What is it?" retorts Lord Charles, inconsistently. "It is very simple. I want you to deliver a note for me." "Oh, come, you know! Won't one of the army of servants, who devour the land like locusts, serve your turn?" "No; no none will do but yourself. I want this note delivered, at once. And I don't want anyone but our two selves to know anything about it; I don't want it to be carried about in one of the servant's pockets for an hour or two."