How that dinner passed off the Secretary never knew. It was a horrible nightmare, and it seemed interminable; but it did come to an end at last, and he repaired to the smoking-room where even a worse purgatory awaited him. Kent-Lauriston distinctly avoided him, the rest evidently regarded him as their lawful prey. His over-taxed nerves were beginning to give way. He laughed hysterically, threw his cigar into the fireplace, and, begging to be excused, left the room. A burst of laughter followed him. He knew what it meant--every action of his must henceforth be misinterpreted. His appearance in the drawing-room was the signal for a preparatory giggle, and then an, only too apparent, ignoring of his presence, accompanied by meaning glances towards the conservatory. He took the hint, and went in that direction, to find Lady Isabelle weeping her eyes out on a divan. "There's no use crying over spilt milk," he said to her, cheerfully; "but you must admit it's a deuce of a mess." "How can I ever sufficiently thank you, Mr. Stanley?" she exclaimed, looking up at him in undisguised admiration. "You were splendid." "Oh, not at all--but I'll admit your mother's announcement rather staggered me." "I tried to prepare you." "I'm afraid you didn't succeed," he replied coldly, for he felt that he had been ill-used. "I assure you," she said, "if I'd had the remotest idea of what mamma intended doing, I would have faced all possibilities and told her the truth, rather than have exposed you to what has occurred. I can never, never forgive myself for it." "It was really more my fault than yours. I gave your mother permission to announce our engagement whenever you gave your consent." "I never gave it!" she cried. "Of course," he continued, "I never supposed that your mother would so far forget herself as to force you." "You mustn't be too hard on mamma." "Under the circumstances you could hardly expect me to be lenient; I think we'd better agree to change the subject." She bowed silently. "There's one thing, however, that you can do to help me," he continued. Lady Isabelle shivered as she saw the approach of the dreaded request, and asked: "What is that?" "You can go to Miss Fitzgerald and tell her the truth. No statement of mine, unsupported by you, would have any credence in her ears after what has passed. You're the only person whose word can right me in her estimation." "Mr. Stanley," she replied slowly, and with evident exertion, "I cannot tell you the pain, the chagrin, which it gives me to refuse your request." "You won't do it!" he cried, utterly amazed. "I can't do it." "But do you realise the position in which you place me with Miss Fitzgerald?" he protested, unwilling to believe his ears. "Perfectly--only too keenly," she replied. "The knowledge that I've wronged you in her estimation is the bitterest part of the whole matter. I feel it much more than my own position in the affair."