"No, sir, no message," explained the flustered butler--"I come on my own responsibility--seeing as her Ladyship had fainted dead away as she was just a putting on her opera cloak--and knowing as she was coming to you, sir, as soon as the doctors had been sent for, I jumps into a cab and comes here to let you know as you couldn't expect her no-how--her not having revived when I left--and-- Thank you, sir----" as Stanley, cutting short his volubility, pressed a half-sovereign into his hand, to pay him for his cab fare and his trouble--adding as he did so:-- "Pray request her Ladyship not to worry herself about me, I shall be able, doubtless, to make other arrangements--and--express my deep regrets at her indisposition." The man touched his hat and was gone, and the Secretary slowly reascended the stairs. "Make other arrangements!" Ah, that was easier said than done. What would his guests say when he confessed to them his awkward dilemma? Lady Isabelle McLane would raise her eyebrows, call a cab, and go home, would infinitely prefer to do so than to remain under the present conditions. But Belle? Without doubt Belle Fitzgerald would do the same--not because she wished to, but because Lady Isabelle did. And the two men--they would probably stay and chaff him about it the rest of the evening. Lieutenant Kingsland always chaffed everybody--he could stand that--but Kent-Lauriston's quiet, well-bred cynicism, would, he felt, under the circumstances, simply drive him mad. Yet, they must be told. He must face the music, or find a chaperon, and how could he do the latter in a maze of people whom he did not know, and who were all engaged to their own dinner-parties? Outside the Club it was hopeless, for there was no time to send for any lady friend, even were such an one dressed and waiting to come at his behest. A telephone might have saved the situation, but London is above telephones; they are not sufficiently exclusive. No, he must meet his fate, and bear it like a man, and none of his guests would ever forget it or forgive him, or accept any of his invitations again. Stanley ascended the stairs with the sensations of an early Christian martyr going to the arena--indeed, he felt that a brace of hungry lions would be a happy release from his present predicament. As he reached the top step, a conversation, carried on in the low but excited tones of a man and a woman, reached his ears, which caused him to pause, partly out of curiosity at what he heard, but more because the words carried, in their meaning, a ray of hope to his breast. "I tell you, I will not dine with those men. It is an insult to have asked me to receive them, they are----", but here the man, evidently her husband, interrupted earnestly in a low tone of voice, begging her to be silent, but she did not heed his request.