Sara proceeded to count her beads, lest one should be missing. But they were all there, and she tied them up in her handkerchief. "Pensée," she said, presently. "I will tell his name after all, because you have been so frank with me. The one I ... love is Beauclerk Reckage." As she uttered this lie, she cast down her eyes and blushed to the very heart. "Beauclerk!" exclaimed Pensée, in amazement. "Then there _is_ some hope after all! There is, there must be! Beauclerk! He is engaged to Agnes Carillon, of course. But all the same...." The conversation flagged. Lord Garrow, who had heard a distant murmuring but not their words, now, as their animation failed, came in. "My little girl," said he, "has been moping. I am very glad that you called ... very glad indeed. And Sara, my darling...." "Yes, papa." "Have you asked Pensée the name of that extremely pretty song she sang for us when we all dined together at Lord Wight's? You remember the evening?" But Sara, with a wail, fled away. Pensée caught a glimpse of her white, agonised countenance as she rushed past them, moaning, to her own room. "This is dreadful," said Lord Garrow, horribly annoyed--"dreadful!" "It is indeed," replied Lady Fitz Rewes gravely. "I suppose...." She wanted to say that she hoped the Marshire-de Treverell alliance was still undecided. But something in his lordship's air--a hardness she had never thought to see in his regard--forbade any reference to the subject. He conducted her to her carriage, wished her "Goodbye" in his Court manner, and led her to understand, by an unmistakable glance, that a certain marriage which had been arranged would, inasmuch as it was entirely agreeable to the will of Providence, take place. CHAPTER III Lord Reckage, in the meantime, had not been able to draw rein until he reached Grafton Street, where the hunter, of its own will, stopped short at a door, half glass and half mahogany, before which a groom stood watching, evidently with some suspense, for their approach. At the first sight of the animal and its rider, he hastened forward, and, seizing the bridle, assisted his master to dismount. Once on the ground, the young man satisfied his spleen by hitting the horse several vicious cuts with his whip. Then he informed the servant that it was his intention to walk home, and, with an ominous scowl, watched the "rushing beast" led from his sight. No one, except himself, was permitted to occupy that saddle. The house which he now entered had been the town mansion for three generations of the Hampshires, but, despised by its then owner, whose young duchess wanted an Italian villa on Piccadilly, or a French château in Park Lane, the lease had been sold to a syndicate of rising politicians who formed a small organisation known, in those days, as the Mirafloreans.