But Herbert had a horrible disappointment when Hargreaves said: “By Jove! I believe I left it in the taxi. Yes, I am sure I did!” Herbert put his hand up to his aching head and whispered his anguish: “Oh, my God! Now how shall I mark time?” “But I reminded you about it!” said Mrs. Hargreaves. “Yes, I know. But you are always reminding me about something.” “Well, play something by heart,” said Herbert in a pleading way. “Any old thing. The five-finger exercises.” “I am very out of practice,” said Mrs. Hargreaves. “But still I will try.” Herbert breathed a prayer of thankfulness, and hurried to conduct the lady to the music-stool. As he did so there was a noise outside the window. Newspaper men were shouting their sing-song: “Raid on the ‘Ouse. Suffragette Outrage. Raid on the ‘Ouse of Commins.” “What are the devils saying?” asked Hargreaves, trying to catch the words. “Something about the Suffragettes,” growled Atkinson Brown. “I’m afraid it will give poor Clare a worse headache,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. Mrs. Heywood tried to be reassuring: “Oh, I don’t think so.” At that moment there was a loud ring at the bell. The sound was so prolonged that it startled the company. Herbert listened intently and then whispered to his mother: “That must be Clare!” “Oh, if it is only Clare!” said Mrs. Heywood. When Mrs. Hargreaves had struck a few soft chords on the piano there was the sound of voices speaking loudly in the hall. Everybody listened, surprised at the interruption. Mollie’s voice could be heard quite clearly. “I told you it was our At Home night, Miss Vernon.” “I can’t help that.” The drawing-room door opened, _sans ceremonie_, and Madge Vernon came in. Her face was flushed, and she had sparkling eyes. She stood in the doorway looking at the company with a smile, as though immensely amused by some joke of her own. “I’m sorry to interrupt you good people,” she said very cheerfully, “but I have come on urgent business, which brooks no delay, as they say in melodrama.” Mrs. Heywood gazed at her with frightened eyes. “My dear!... What has happened?” “What’s the matter?” said Herbert, turning very pale. “Oh, it’s nothing to be alarmed at,” said Madge Vernon. “It’s about your wife.” “My wife?” “About Clare?” exclaimed Mrs. Atkinson Brown. Mrs. Hargreaves craned her head forward, like a bird reaching for its seed. “I wonder--” she said. Madge Vernon grinned at them all. “It’ll be in the papers to-morrow, so you are all bound to know. Besides, why keep it a secret? It’s a thing to be proud of!” “Proud of what?” asked Herbert in a frenzied tone of voice. Madge Vernon enjoyed the drama of her announcement. “Clare has been arrested in a demonstration outside the House to-night.” “Arrested!” The awful word was spoken almost simultaneously by all the company in that drawingroom of Intellectual Mansions, S. W. “She’s quite safe,” said Madge Vernon calmly. “I’ve come to ask you to bail her out.”