"It is not," replied Prue with overpowering dignity. "That is my private affair and I do not care to discuss it, even with Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert. By the by, Sir Geoffrey"—with an entire change of tone and manner—"you always know the latest news; do tell us why Mrs. Tewkesbury has gone home to her father, and whether her husband is going to fight a duel or will merely horsewhip her hair-dresser?" The conversation drifted into safer channels, and Prue was soon her own bright, frivolous, enchanting self. Other guests dropped in; fashion, scandal, and the duchess’ masquerade were discussed, and Prue had a saucy answer for every compliment and a ready laugh for every jest, and beneath her dainty bodice such a tumult of fear and shame and sharp sense of defeat, and withal such strange, swift stabs of something that was not pain, and yet hurt her more than all the other emotions that quickened her pulse and sent the blood surging through her brain. It was late in the afternoon, and Prue’s guests were making their adieux, when Robin’s messenger came—a rustic-looking youth with a ruddy complexion and a shock of tow-colored hair. He was dressed like the footboy of a prosperous tradesman, and carried an oilskin covered basket—and of a surety bore no resemblance to the crippled beggar who had followed Robin so persistently on his way to the conference in Lincoln’s Inn. Yet it was the same man. With an air of dense stupidity, he evaded such questions as James deigned to put to him, and reiterated his petition for a personal interview with Lady Prudence Brooke, for whom he had a message that was to be delivered to her, and to her alone. James, scenting a discreet but persistent dun, bade him wait in the library, and conveyed his request to Prue with the same air of respectful condolence with which he would have announced any other calamity. Although he disapproved of her youth and frivolity, James would have yielded to none in admiration of his beautiful young mistress, whom he had carried in his arms as a baby and conspired with every other member of Lady Drumloch’s household to indulge, spoil and flatter from the first hour that her blue eyes had opened on a world full of her adorers. "A young man is waiting below, my Lady. He has a message for you which he will not send up. I told him you were engaged, but he said he would wait until you were at leisure." "What sort of a young man, James? Does he look as if he came for money?" Prue asked. "You know most of my duns better than I do." "He is a stranger to me, my Lady, but it is likely he may be a lawyer’s clerk in disguise." "I will see him, James; bring him up here," she interrupted. "The hair-dresser is here; shall I tell him to wait?" inquired James. "No; send him up-stairs. Peggie, go and have your hair dressed first, and by that time I will be ready."