“Are you going for Beattie?” asked Mrs. Sewell, as she appeared at the door; “for Haire says it would be better to fetch some one--any one--at once.” “I have ordered the carriage. I 'll get Lysaght or Adams-if I should not find Beattie; and mind, if Beattie come while I am away, detain him, and don't let him leave this till I return. Do you mind me?” “Yes; I 'll tell him what you say.” “Ay, but you must insist upon his doing it. There will be all sorts of stories if he should die--” “Stories? what do you mean by stories?” cried she, in alarm. “Rumors of neglect, of want of proper care of him, and such-like, which would be most insulting. At all events, I am resolved Beattie should be here at the last; and take care that he does not leave. I 'll call at my mother's too; she ought to come back with me. We have to deal with a scandal-loving world, and let us leave them as little to fall foul of as may be.” All this was said hurriedly, as he bustled about the room, fussy and impatient, and with an eagerness to be off which certainly surprised her. “You know where to find these doctors,--you have their addresses?” asked she. “George knows all about them.” “And William does, at all events.” “I'm not taking William. I don't want a footman with a brougham. It is a light carriage and speedy cattle that are needed at this moment; and here they come. Now, mind that you keep Beattie till I come back; and if there be any inquiries, simply say the Chief Baron is the same as yesterday.” “Had I not better consult Dr. Beattie?” “You will do as I tell you, Madam,” said he, sternly. “You have heard my directions; take care that you follow them. To Mr. Lysaght's, George--no, first to Dr. Beattie's, Merrion Square,” cried he, as he stepped into the carriage, “and drive fast.” “Yes, sir,” said the coachman, and started at once. He had not proceeded more than half-way down the avenue, however, when Sewell, leaning out of the window, said, “Don't go into town, George; make for the Park by the shortest cut you can, the Secretary's Lodge.” “All right, sir; the beasts are fresh. We 'll be there in thirty minutes.” True to his word, within the half-hour the horses, white with sweat and flanking like racero, stood at the door of the Secretary's Lodge. Four or five private carriages and some cabs were also at the door, signs of a dinner-party which had not yet broken up. “Take this card in to Mr. Balfour, Mr. Wells,” said he to the butler, who was an old acquaintance, “and say I want one minute in private with him,--strictly private, mind. I 'll step into the library here and wait.” “What's up, Sewell? Are you in a new scrape, eh?” said Balfour, entering, slightly flushed with wine and conversation, and half put out by the interruption. “Not much of a scrape,--can you give me five minutes?” “Wells said one minute, and that's why I came. The Castledowns and Eyres and the Ashes are here, and the Langrish girls, and Dick Upton.”