“I am hopefully in love with your father,” Lady Cynthia confessed. “It has been coming on for a long time. I suspected it the first time I ever met him. Now I am absolutely certain.” “It's quite a new idea,” Margaret remarked. “Shall we like her in the family, Francis?” “No airs!” Lady Cynthia warned her. “You two are not properly engaged yet. It may devolve upon me to give my consent.” “In that case,” Francis replied, “I hope that we may at least count upon your influence with Sir Timothy?” “If you'll return the compliment and urge my suit with him,” Lady Cynthia laughed. “I am afraid he can't quite make up his mind about me, and I am so nice. I haven't flirted nearly so much as people think, and my instincts are really quite domestic.” “My position,” Sir Timothy remarked, as he made an unsuccessful attempt to possess himself of the bill which Francis had called for, “is becoming a little difficult.” “Not really difficult,” Lady Cynthia objected, “because the real decision rests in your hands.” “Just listen to the woman!” Margaret exclaimed. “Do you realise, father, that Cynthia is making the most brazen advances to you? And I was going to ask her if she'd like to come back to The Sanctuary with us this evening!” Lady Cynthia was suddenly eager. Margaret glanced across at her father. Sir Timothy seemed almost imperceptibly to stiffen a little. “Margaret has carte blanche at The Sanctuary as regards her visitors,” he said. “I am afraid that I shall be busy over at The Walled House.” “But you'd come and dine with us?” Sir Timothy hesitated. An issue which had been looming in his mind for many hours seemed to be suddenly joined. “Please!” Lady Cynthia begged. Sir Timothy followed the example of the others and rose to his feet. He avoided Lady Cynthia's eyes. He seemed suddenly a little tired. “I will come and dine,” he assented quietly. “I am afraid that I cannot promise more than that. Lady Cynthia, as she knows, is always welcome at The Sanctuary.” CHAPTER XXX Punctual to his appointment that afternoon, the man who had sought an interview with Francis was shown into the latter's study in Clarges Street. He wore an overcoat over his livery, and directly he entered the room Francis was struck by his intense pallor. He had been trying feverishly to assure himself that all that the man required was the usual sort of help, or assistance into a hospital. Yet there was something furtive in his visitor's manner, something which suggested the bearer of a guilty secret. “Please tell me what you want as quickly as you can,” Francis begged. “I am due to start down into the country in a few minutes.” “I won't keep you long, sir,” the man replied. “The matter is rather a serious one.” “Are you ill?” “Yes, sir!” “You had better sit down.” The man relapsed gratefully into a chair.