"No, no, thank goodness, no. At least I think and hope not. There’s only one person in Madrid knows of that; a Madame Chansette. She is a Quesada, it’s true; but she married against the family’s wish. She married a wealthy Frenchman, but is now a widow, and she went back to Madrid some time ago, really to try and take care of Sarita. The family have behaved abominably, I must say; and from what she tells me there seems to be no doubt that they’ve appropriated all the children’s fortune. Well, Madame Chansette has written several times, and lately has pressed me to go over and consult with her about the children’s future. She is afraid there will be some big trouble; and what you’ve got to do, Ferdinand, is just to take my place in the affair. I can’t go, of course; and you’ve got a head on your shoulders if you like to use it: and you can just take a careful look into things and see what had best be done." "Then I suppose neither the brother nor sister knows about us?" "God forbid," cried my father, fervently. "Unless, of course, Madame Chansette has told them. But she’s a discreet woman, although she is Spanish; and I don’t think she’d be so stupid as to tell them." "It’s a rum kettle of fish," I said, meditatively; and my father winced at the expression. "What Lascelles said is rather true, you know, Ferdinand. You are very slangy in your conversation. I really think, now that you have to climb the diplomatic ladder, you should try to curb the habit. Elegance of diction stands for so much in diplomacy." "It is certainly a very involved situation, sir, was what I meant," I answered, gravely. "That’s much better, Ferdinand, and quite as expressive. I wish to feel proud of you, my boy, and hope you will be very successful. I have great trust and faith in you, I have indeed, if you will only try always to do your best." "I will try to be worthy of the trust, sir," I said, earnestly, for he was more moved than I had ever seen him. "I am sure you will, Ferdinand, God bless you;" and he gave me his hand. Then I was guilty of an anti-climax. "I think I should like to say, sir, that I know, of course, the reason why my absence is desirable, and I hope that it will serve its purpose. I am not in the least troubled about going." "I am glad to hear that, my boy. Of course, Lascelles must make a wealthy marriage if possible. We’ve all known the—the limitations inevitable where there’s a title without adequate resources to maintain one’s position. It makes such a difference in the world. And, of course, if the thing goes all right, as I trust it will, and you find Madrid unsupportable, why, you must come back. You know what a pleasure it always is to me to have you at home. But this is—is quite essential."