"Sir Geoffrey," she said, "I am invited to accompany the queen to Windsor, whither she intends to go this week for a few days’ rest, and perchance to be out of hearing of the wrangling of Whigs and Tories for a season. When I return, if you are still in the same mind, I promise to be ready with an answer, with which I shall hope to satisfy you. In the meantime, I shall not take it amiss if you reflect seriously upon the many defects of my character and the great disadvantages you will bring on yourself by marrying penniless me, instead of seeking out some charming heiress—of whom I could point out several, both maids and widows—to whom your many noble qualities—and your title—would be irresistible." She made him the deepest of curtseys, preserving all the time a countenance so grave and dignified that he was completely silenced, and was withdrawing without further remonstrance, when the door was flung open, and James, in his most impressive; manner, announced: "Lord Beachcombe." *CHAPTER XXI* *AN AFFAIR OF FAMILY* There was a momentary pause of embarrassment. Lord Beachcombe’s last visit to Lady Drumloch’s house had been under circumstances that made the present one quite unforeseen. Also he had not met Sir Geoffrey since their hostile encounter in Hyde Park, therefore a meeting in the presence of the woman who had been so disturbing an element in both their lives, was mutually disconcerting. Sir Geoffrey was the first to recover himself, greeting the new arrival with exaggerated politeness and inquiring after his health with a solicitude that Lord Beachcombe did not attempt to reciprocate. The wound he had received from Sir Geoffrey’s sword was slight enough to be patched up with a few strips of court-plaster; the wound to his vanity still gaped. He looked on with a sardonic smile while Sir Geoffrey, pressing several impassioned kisses upon Prue’s reluctant hand, bade her "a brief adieu," and slowly backed himself to the door. "I trust I am not driving Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert away," said Beachcombe stiffly. "By no means," cried Prue with alacrity. "Sir Geoffrey was taking his leave when you entered. Sir Geoffrey, farewell. No doubt we shall meet at Lady Rialton’s, or elsewhere, later in the day; our world is so small, we can not get away from one another even for an hour; don’t you find it sometimes grows monotonous, Lord Beachcombe?" As the door closed upon the parting guest, Beachcombe approached her with an air of distant respect, bowing profoundly, with his hand upon his breast. "Pardon this intrusion, Lady Prudence, and permit me to lay my homage at your feet," he said. Prue curtsied again. "Pray, my Lord, do not wound me by apologizing for a friendly visit," she returned, with a sweet smile. "Be seated, and let me offer you a cup of chocolate."