“Yes, your Grace; but, as you are too ill to go, the vicar thinks that it will do just as well if she comes and reads the Lessons of the Day to your Grace.” “That it will do just as well?” “That was the vicar’s expression, your Grace.” “Ah, he spoke from a professional point of view, no doubt. The arrangement is quite satisfactory. How did you get on with Mrs Hordern--and at church?” “I did very well, your Grace, since your Grace is kind enough to inquire. With reference to last night, I explained that my attacks of mental affliction were intermittent, though frequently recurrent. But the doctor is to come and see me to-morrow--by Mrs Hordern’s orders, your Grace.” “‘Sufficient unto the day!’” said the Duke serenely. “You will remove that notice from the door as soon as our neighbours have started for evening church--or chapel.” The afternoon wore itself slowly away, the Duke finding himself afflicted with some degree of _ennui_. “Is there no situation in life, however humble, however laborious,” he said, “that is free from this plague? It is, indeed, a lesson to me that we should be content with our several stations.” He went to his bedroom, snatched a short repose, and, rising in better heart, assumed his corduroys. At six-thirty a large motor-car broke down opposite the village inn. The chauffeur announced that the necessary repairs would take some time. He took some time himself, and some refreshment, before he set about them. At six-fifty Frank, returning from a little stroll in the neighbourhood of the inn, reported the arrival of Monsieur Ferdinand, his Grace’s chief chauffeur, and removed the notice from the door of the cottage. He laid tea and withdrew. Everything was ready except the shrimps. There was, as yet, no sign of the shrimps, nor of Monsieur Alphonse. “It can’t be that Alphonse will fail me!” thought the Duke uneasily. The shrimps, although not absolutely essential, constituted an artistic detail particularly congruous with his taste. Precisely at seven o’clock he saw Miss Hordern approaching. With enormous pleasure he noted the graceful outline of her figure as she crossed the allotment; with less pleasure he observed that she was accompanied by what is termed a “growing lad” of about fourteen. “These precautions aren’t very complimentary,” thought the Duke. Her knock sounded on the door. The Duke fell into a doze. She knocked again. “I do hope he’s not--not queer again to-day,” said Angela. “The door’s open: let’s go in and look. I’m not afraid.” He heard them enter the house; he rose and opened the sitting-room door. “Oh, there you are! Good-evening. May we come in? Mamma would have come and let me go to church, only she’s got such a bad headache that she’s been obliged to go to bed.” The Duke made no immediate reply. Angela came in, followed by the boy. The boy put down on the table a round parcel which he was carrying. “Jelly,” thought the Duke. Angela laid down a volume. “Lessons,” the Duke surmised.