Still, it was not easy to change the current of conversation, for each new-comer had some fresh rumor to be contradicted, some new extravagance to be laughed at or some malicious inference to be drawn from Prue’s unwonted reserve, and her grandmother’s ill-concealed annoyance. But if the afternoon wore away slowly to Peggie and Prue, it was a long-drawn torture to Lord Beachcombe, whose watch upon the house was never relaxed, notwithstanding the gibes of the gay throng as it passed in and out, marveling what kept Prue’s quondam lover hanging round Lady Drumloch’s door, and the rising murmurs of his followers, whose numbers had been reinforced by numerous loungers on the lookout for mischief or profit. A constant stream of guests, arriving and departing, passed before him; still no one at all resembling Robin Freemantle appeared. Dainty ladies in brocade and jewels passed in and out of the door, their servants being obliged to force a way for them through the gathering crowd of idlers. Beaux as dainty and as gaily costumed, handed them into their equipages, lisping quaint oaths and shaking their jeweled canes in the faces of the overbold; still no Robin Freemantle. One after another the carriages rolled away, the chairmen trotted off with their fair burdens, the casual onlookers dispersed, and left the street to Lord Beachcombe and his noisy retinue. At last he could control his impatience no longer. Hurriedly directing his men to keep vigilant watch for their quarry, he once more knocked for admittance and demanded a word with Lady Brooke. James, the imperturbable, would have conducted him up to the drawing-room, but he stalked haughtily to the library and abruptly opened the door—to find the room deserted. Prue soon appeared, all smiles and artless witcheries, quite determined to see nothing strange in this untimely visit, and as ready to gossip as though she had nothing more serious on her mind than the latest epigram and the newest scandal. Lord Beachcombe, however, was in too deadly earnest to encourage her frivolity, and with very little circumlocution inquired for Captain Freemantle. "Captain—Freemantle—?" she questioned, with a puzzled air. "Do you mean the highwayman? La! how should I know anything about him? You must be dreaming, Lord Beachcombe!" "I am not dreaming, Viscountess," he said resentfully. "Nor was I dreaming a couple of hours ago, when, quite by accident, I saw him here," he indicated the spot by a motion of his hand, "in close—ahem—_conversation_ with your ladyship." "With me?" she cried. "Oh! you are in error. The gentleman you spied upon—pardon, I mean accidentally interrupted—is your relative, Captain de Cliffe—" "The difference is merely nominal," he interposed, with a sour smile. "It is of great importance that I should have a few words with that—_gentleman_." "Oh! how unfortunate," she cried, with profound regret; "he went away hours ago—oh! ages ago!"