Hammond let a mild exclamation of surprise escape him. Then he looked at his friend with a certain air of sympathy. “What should you say if I were to tell you that you and I were in the same boat, old man?” “You?” The other stared at him in amazement. “You don’t mean to say that there is any girl in England who would refuse you?” “Suppose there were a girl whom I hadn’t the courage to ask, not because I was afraid of her refusing me, but because I was afraid of her accepting me?” “I don’t understand.” “Suppose I had to choose between her and my ambition? Suppose I knew that if I were to ask her to be my wife I might have to abandon my whole career, because society would forbid the banns?” “I never thought of that,” murmured his friend. “This very morning,” Hammond went on, “I had a letter from a man who thinks he is acting in my interests to warn me against the woman I love.” “That is rather rough on you, old man.” Hammond smiled bitterly. “You see, even a damned millionaire can’t have everything he wants.” “_Miss Yorke!_” The name caused a sensation. Heads were turned from all directions, and the Dean of Colchester and his victim hurried back to the neighborhood of the doorway where Hammond and Mauleverer were standing. At the same time Mr. Despencer slipped in from the next room, and stealthily approached the group. “What Miss Yorke is that?” asked Mauleverer, innocently. “_The_ Miss Yorke, I believe, popularly known as Belle Yorke,” Despencer took it on himself to answer. He affected to keep his eyes turned away from Hammond. “Belle Yorke!” exclaimed Mr. Septimus Jones, with enthusiasm. “Oh, I dote upon her! I think she is perfectly lovely--don’t you, Hammond?” “Yes.” The Dean of Colchester gave a sound like an ecclesiastical purr. “Now, this is very fortunate! I have so often wished to see her, but, of course, I daren’t go to those places where she sings. It is so thoughtful of the marchioness to bring her here. Ahem! isn’t there something or other _said_ about her?” “They say plenty of things about her, but God knows how much of it is true,” remarked Mauleverer. “Oh, but Mauleverer,” Mr. Jones burst in, “you know when people say so much it must be some of it true, mustn’t it?” Hammond turned and looked at the three men, one after the other, and then his eyes wandered to Despencer, who was standing by, with a sneer on his thin lips. Here were these four men all looking at the matter from different points of view, none of them apparently with any reason to wish ill to Belle Yorke, two of them evidently friendly towards her, and yet they all doubted her alike. Before he could speak he saw a sudden change come over their faces. A man had just come hurriedly through the doorway leading from the reception-room. It was the Marquis of Severn; and he was in full dress, with the blue ribbon of the Garter across his shirt-front. He caught sight of his nephew, and strode up to him, his face working with emotion.