“If Mrs. Brook desires to ‘spare’ you,” Vanderbank kindly replied, “the best way to make sure of it would perhaps indeed be to remove you. But hadn’t we a hope of Nanda?” “It might be of use for us to wait for her?”--it was still to his young friend that Mr. Longdon put it. “Ah when she’s once on the loose--!” Mrs. Brookenham sighed. “Unless la voila,” she said as a hand was heard at the door-latch. It was only, however, a footman who entered with a little tray that, on his approaching his mistress, offered to sight the brown envelope of a telegram. She immediately took leave to open this missive, after the quick perusal of which she had another vision of them all. “It IS she--the modern daughter. ‘Tishy keeps me dinner and opera; clothes all right; return uncertain, but if before morning have latch-key.’ She won’t come home till morning!” said Mrs. Brook. “But think of the comfort of the latch-key!” Vanderbank laughed. “You might go to the opera,” he said to Mr. Longdon. “Hanged if _I_ don’t!” Mr. Cashmore exclaimed. Mr. Longdon appeared to have caught from Nanda’s message an obscure agitation; he met his young friend’s suggestion at all events with a visible intensity. “Will you go with me?” Vanderbank had just debated, recalling engagements; which gave Mrs. Brook time to intervene. “Can’t you live without him?” she asked of her elder friend. Vanderbank had looked at her an instant. “I think I can get there late,” he then replied to Mr. Longdon. “I think _I_ can get there early,” Mr. Cashmore declared. “Mrs. Grendon must have a box; in fact I know which, and THEY don’t,” he jocosely continued to his hostess. Mrs. Brook meanwhile had given Mr. Longdon her hand. “Well, in any case the child SHALL soon come to you. And oh alone,” she insisted: “you needn’t make phrases--I know too well what I’m about.” “One hopes really you do,” pursued the unquenched Mr. Cashmore. “If that’s what one gets by having known your mother--!” “It wouldn’t have helped YOU” Mrs. Brook retorted. “And won’t you have to say it’s ALL you were to get?” she pityingly murmured to her other visitor. He turned to Vanderbank with a strange gasp, and that comforter said “Come!” BOOK FIFTH. THE DUCHESS