“What!” Mrs. Leigh’s astonishment was so great that it seemed to disturb the afternoon quiet which reigned over the whole domain. “What! Why, Aubrey! It was only the other day I heard of your engagement.” “It is quite true, and yet it has become ancient history, and nobody remembers it any more.” “What do you mean?” she cried. “My dear Aubrey, I do not understand you. I thought you were dangling about after your young lady, and that this was the reason why I heard so little of you; and then I was much startled to see that announcement in the papers. But you said she was always delicate. Well, but what on earth is the meaning of this other change?” “I told you, mother. For some time I was but half accepted, pending Colonel Kingsward’s decision.” “Oh, yes; one knows what that sort of thing means! And then Colonel Kingsward generously consented--to one of the best matches in England--in your condition of life.” “I am not a young duke, mother.” “No, you are not a young duke. I said in your condition of life, and the Kingswards are nothing superior to that, I believe. Well--and then? That was where your last letter left me.” “I am ashamed not to have written, mother; but it wasn’t pleasant news--and I always hoped to change their mind.” “Well? I suppose there was some cause for it?” she said, after waiting a long minute or two for his next words. He got up and walked to the window, which, as has been intimated, was also a door opening and leading out on to the terrace. “May I shut this window?” he said, turning his back on her; and then he added, still keeping that attitude, “it was of course because of that old affair.” “What old affair?” “You generally understand at half a word, mother; must I go into the whole nauseous business?” She came up to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Miss Lance,” she said. “What else? I haven’t had so many scandals in my life that you should stand in any doubt.” “Scandals!” she exclaimed; and again was silent for a moment. “Aubrey, explain it to me a little. How did that business come to their ears?” “Oh, in the easiest way, the simplest way!” he cried, “The injured woman called on the father of the girl who was going to be given to such a reprobate as me.” He laughed loudly and harshly, preserving the most tragic face all the time. “The injured woman! Good heavens! And was the man such an ass--such an ass----?” “He is not an ass, mother; he is a model of every virtue. My engagement, if you like to call it so, lasted about a week, and then I was suddenly turned adrift.” “Aubrey, when did all this happen?” “I suppose about three weeks ago. Pardon me, mother, for not having written, but I had no heart to write. I left them at Cologne, and travelled home by myself, and the first thing I did, of course, was to go and see Colonel Kingsward.” “Well?”