“Excuse me, Miss,” again said Temple, “I forgot to say that Mrs Pottinger came to inquire everyday; and yesterday she left a small parcel which I put on the hall table.” “Let us see what she says on her card,” and Gwen read the following words: “‘Mrs Pottinger hopes that Lord Somerville will accept and use the small pocket battery which accompanies this card. One of the most renowned New York surgeons has invented this wonderful brain restorer, and Mrs P. trusts Lord Somerville will give the discovery a fair trial, and that he will patronise the inventor and the invention.’” “My first and only call will be on Mrs David Pottinger!” exclaimed Lionel, sitting up in his bed. “We shall see her yet presiding at the Palace of Happiness, and leading by the hand the American Seer.” “Is my lord worse, Miss?” gravely inquired the valet, as he leaned towards Gwen. “No, Temple, your master has never been in better spirits, nor has he ever been so clear in his mind. But it is—what can I call it?—a joke between us, and no one besides ourselves can understand it.” “My good Temple,” echoed Lionel, with a joyous ring in his voice, “it is a conundrum which we are trying to guess. We have already made out the first part of the riddle, but the second will be more difficult, for it will consist in making _you_ see the joke, Temple.” “Oh! my lord, I always was a bad hand at guessing.” “Ev’n News! Probable date of th’ Coronation!” The hurried footsteps passed in front of Selby House. “What does that mean, Gwen? Is not the Coronation over by this time?” “My poor boy, of course you do not know the news! Many things have happened since that night when you shot yourself. The war is over—thank goodness that is a thing of the past! But the royal tragedy-comedy was never acted. You shall read for yourself.” And Gwen went to fetch a bundle of newspapers and illustrated journals that lay on a console. “’Ooligan murderer sentenced!” Again the hurried steps passed in the street. Lionel read on and on, thrilled at the perusal of dailies and weeklies. “The strangest of events brought the curtain down on our social pantomime. Quite as strange as the storm of London. If only it brought England to its senses I would not lament over the disappointment of the public.” “I doubt whether England will take the hint,” said Gwen. “This is all very strange, dearest Gwen, but still no stranger than my visions; and if it is true that ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made of,’ we can yet hope that our Society will save itself in time.” The handle of the door was turned and Sir Edward walked in. “Hullo! already reading, my dear Lord Somerville! You are a wonderful patient, and we shall see you in the Row before long.” Taking Lionel’s hand he felt his pulse. “That’s right, you are better, and you will soon resume your duties at Court. The King was inquiring after you the other day.”