Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother, who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitude which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists’ models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice and its dignity. At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted. Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little behind him. “Where are you going to?” said Marmaduke, abruptly. “Why do you ask?” said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of another to question him. “I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?” “Yes, if you wish.” “Let’s go to the South Kensington Museum.” “The South——! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star and Garter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search of luncheon?” “I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum this afternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come; it’s only a matter of a few minutes if we drive.” “Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years.” “All right. Come al——oh, damn! There’s Lady Carbury and Constance coming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on.” But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who was supine upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as they stood talking. “Mamma,” she said, “there’s Marmaduke and Sholto Douglas.” “Where???” said the Countess, lifting her head quickly. “Josephs, drive slowly. Where are they, Constance?” “They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passing the hospital.” “We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make a fool of yourself.” “Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me——” “Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has moved from where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very ill. Do as I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel.” “I say,” said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred: “come back. There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up to?” “It cannot be helped,” said Douglas. “There is no escape. You must not cross: it would be pointedly rude.” Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countess called his name, and greeted him with smiles. “We want to know how your father is,” she said. “We have had such alarming accounts of him. I hope he is better.” “They havnt told me much about him,” said Marmaduke. “There was deuced little the matter with the governor when I saw him last.” “Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He has not been to see us for three years past, and during that time we have had the worst reports of him.” “You never asked me to go and see you.”