“But really, Miss Desborough, do let us talk this over before you decide!” implored the bewildered consul. “Think what a disappointment to your host and these ladies. Lord Algernon expects to drive you there; he is already waiting! The party was got up for you!” Miss Desborough made a slight grimace. “I mean you ought to sacrifice something--but I trust there is really nothing serious--to them!” “If YOU do not speak to them, I will!” said Miss Desborough firmly. “If you say what I tell you, it will come the more plausibly from you. Come! My mind is made up. One of us must break the news! Shall it be you or I?” She drew her cloak over her shoulders and made a step forwards. The consul saw she was determined. “Then wait here till I return, but keep yourself out of sight,” he said, and hurried away. Between the library and the terrace he conceived a plan. His perplexity lent him a seriousness which befitted the gravity of the news he had to disclose. “I am sorry to have to tell you,” he said, taking Lord Beverdale aside, “that I was the unlucky bearer of some sad news to Miss Desborough this morning, through my consular letters--some matter concerning the death of a relation of hers, and some wearisome question of property. I thought that it was of little importance, and that she would not take it seriously, but I find I was mistaken. It may even oblige her to catch the London train to-night. I promised to make her excuses to you for the present, and I'm afraid I must add my own to them, as she wishes me to stay and advise her in this matter, which requires some prompt action.” Miss Desborough was right: the magic word “property” changed the slight annoyance on the earl's face to a sympathetic concern. “Dear me! I trust it is nothing really serious,” he said. “Of course, you will advise her, and, by the way, if my solicitor, Withers, who'll be here to-morrow, can do anything, you know, call him in. I hope she'll be able to see me later. It could not be a NEAR relation who died, I fancy; she has no brothers or sisters, I understand.” “A cousin, I think; an old friend,” said the consul hastily. He heard Lord Beverdale say a few words to his companions, saw with a tinge of remorse a cloud settle upon Lord Algernon's fresh face, as he appealed in a whisper to old Lady Mesthyn, who leaned forward from the carriage, and said, “If the dear child thought I could be of any service, I should only be too glad to stay with her.” “I knew she would appreciate Lady Mesthyn's sympathy,” said the ingenious consul quickly, “but I really think the question is more a business one--and”-- “Ah, yes,” said the old lady, shaking her head, “it's dreadful, of course, but we must all think of THAT!”