“He only asked me sixty guineas.” “That’s strange. Do you mind opening it again? I’d like to see the bolts.” The General, nothing loath, turned the key and pulled open the huge door. Jack looked at the square, steel bolts--they were absolutely new. “I can’t understand how he offered it for sixty. You certainly had a bargain for thirty, sir,” he said. “I think I have,” said the General complacently. “By the way, I am expecting a man to dinner to-night,” he went on, as he led the way back to the drawing-room, “a doctor man from Yorkshire--Barclay-Seymour. Do you know him?” Jack did not know him, but the girl broke in-- “Oh, yes, he is quite an old friend of mine.” “He’s rather a fool,” said the General, adopting his simple method of classification. Edith smiled. “You told me yesterday that there were only two classes of people, General--rogues and fools. I am wondering,” she said demurely, “in which class you place me.” The old man wrinkled his brows. He looked at the beautiful young face in his high good humour. “I must make a new class for you,” he said. “No, you shall be in a class by yourself. But since most women are fools----” “Oh, come!” she protested, laughingly. “They are,” he averred. “Look at me. If women weren’t fools shouldn’t I have had a wife? If any brilliant, ingenious lady, possessed of the necessary determination had pursued me and had cultivated me, I should not be a bachelor, leaving my money to people who don’t care two--pins,” he hastily substituted a milder phrase for the one he had intended, “whether I’m alive or dead. Does your husband know the Doctor, by the way?” The girl shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “They nearly met one night at dinner, but Gilbert had an engagement.” “But Gilbert knows him,” insisted the old man. “I’ve often talked to him about Barclay-Seymour, who, by the way, is perhaps not such a fool as most doctors. I used to be rather more enthusiastic about him than I have been lately,” he admitted, “and I’m afraid I used to ram old Barclay-Seymour down poor Gilbert’s throat more than his ability or genius justified me doing. Has he never spoken about him?” The girl shook her head. “Ungrateful devil!” growled the old General inconsequently. One of his many footmen came into the drawing-room at that moment with a telegram on a salver. “Hey hey?” demanded Sir John, fixing his glasses on the tip of his nose and scowling up at his servant. “What’s this?” “A telegram, Sir John,” replied the footman. “I can see it’s a telegram, you ass! When did it come?” “A few minutes ago, sir.” “Who brought it?” “A telegraph boy, Sir John,” said the imperturbable servitor. “Why didn’t you say so at first?” snapped Sir John Standerton in a tone of relief. And Edith had all she could do to prevent herself from bursting into a fit of laughter at the little scene. The old man opened the telegram, spread it out, read it slowly and frowned. He read it again.