"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I will have to be content to leave the matter of our departure entirely to the discretion of a third party," said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady Jane Thorne. "Leave that to me, sir," said the man from Scotland Yard promptly and with decision, but with absolutely no understanding. "I shall be happy to attend to any little--Ow! Eh, what?" M. Mirabeau's boot had come violently in contact with his ankle. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Bramble, at precisely the same instant, effected a sly but emphatic prod in the ribs. "Ignoramus!" whispered the latter fiercely. "Imbecile!" hissed the former, and then, noting the bewildered look in the eyes of Mr. Chambers, went on to say in his most suave manner: "Can't you see that you are standing in the presence of the Third Party?" "Any fool could see that," said Mr. Chambers promptly, and bowed to Lady Jane. Later on he wanted to know what the deuce M. Mirabeau meant by kicking him on the shin. "How soon can _you_ be ready to start home, dear?" inquired Eric, ignoring the witnesses. Jane's cheeks were rosy. Her blue eyes danced. "It depends entirely on Mrs. Sparflight," said she. "What has Mrs. Sparflight to do with it?" "You dear silly, I can't go to Fenlew Hall with absolutely nothing to wear, can I?" CHAPTER XX AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES LATER in the evening, Mr. Thomas Trotter--(so far as he knew he was still in the service of Mrs. Millidew, operating under chauffeur's license No. So-and-So, Thomas Trotter, alien)--strode briskly into a Western Union office and sent off the following cablegram, directed to Lord Fenlew, Fenlew Hall, Old-marsh, Blightwind Banks, Surrey: "God bless you. Returning earliest possible date. Will wire soon as wedding day is set. Eric." It was a plain, matter-of-fact Britannical way of covering the situation. He felt there was nothing more that could be said at the moment, and his interest being centred upon two absorbing subjects he touched firmly upon both of them and let it go at that. Quite as direct and characteristic was the reply that came early the next day. "Do nothing rash. Who and what is she? Fenlew." This was the beginning of a sharp, incisive conversation between two English noblemen separated by three thousand miles of water. "Loveliest girl in the world. You will be daffy over her. Take my word for it. Eric." (While we are about it, it is just as well to set forth the brisk dialogue now and get over with it. Something like forty-eight hours actually were required to complete the transoceanic conversation. We save time and avoid confusion, to say nothing of interrupted activities, by telling it all in a breath, so to speak, disregarding everything except sequence.) Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "I repeat, who and what is she?"