Stanley wished the old lady good-morning which she received with chilling condescension, and neither of them spoke for some moments; a precious gain of time, during which her Ladyship put on her gloves, rearranged her cloak, unrolled and re-rolled her sunshade, paced the long hall, alternated glimpses out of the windows by glances up the great stairway, and betrayed every sign of impatient waiting for a tardy companion. The Secretary stood watching her and counting the minutes, which seemed to pass unusually slowly. Finally the Dowager's patience got the better of her reserve; she faced round and demanded if he had seen her daughter. "Yes," he replied, very deliberately. "I believe she was in the hall when I came down." "Believe. Do you not know, Mr. Stanley?" "I certainly caught a glimpse of her," he admitted. "But she's not here now." The Secretary made a careful inspection, from his point of vantage on the hearthstone, of every cobweb and corner of the great apartment, and in the end found himself forced to agree with the Marchioness' statement. "Where has she gone, then?" was her next question. "Really," he replied, "it is not your daughter's custom to keep me posted as to her movements." "But you've eyes, haven't you?" she retorted, testily. "At least you know how she left this hall." The Secretary sighed as he saw the end of his little manoeuvre. "She went out at the front door," he said. "Why couldn't you have told me that to begin with?" "You didn't ask me." "Don't be so distressingly literal. I'm late for the service as it is. My daughter has probably misunderstood our arrangements, and is waiting for me at the church." And the Marchioness showed unmistakable signs of preparing to leave. Even allowing a most liberal leeway to the maundering old parson, Stanley knew he could not yet have reached that passage beginning, "All ye that are married," and ending in "amazement," for which there is a canonical time-allowance of at least five minutes; it therefore behoved him to play his last trump. The Dowager, like a hen preening her feathers, had given the last touches to her garments, and was already half-way to the door, when the Secretary, stepping forward, arrested her progress by remarking: "I feel that I owe you some explanation of what occurred last night, Lady Port-Arthur." "Perhaps it's as well that you should explain," she replied, pausing at the door, "though I should have supposed it would have been unnecessary after our last interview." "I've not forgotten it." "You appeared to have done so last evening." "Really, you know," he said, piqued by her rudeness, "I couldn't refuse to escort your daughter down to dinner when my hostess requested me to do so." "If Mrs. Roberts so honoured you as to permit you to take in Lady Isabelle, naturally----" "Yes, that is the way I should have put it."