She changed and came down to the drawing-room, which was also, she learnt, Lady Moron’s “work-room.” She opened the door and stopped. Two men were there; the first of these she recognised as the weak-kneed holder of the title. The second man was shorter and more sturdily built. His fleshy red face was eloquent of his love of good living, and when he smiled, as he did frequently, he showed two lines of large white teeth, that in some manner reminded the girl of a tiger’s, though there was certainly nothing tigerish about this gentleman, with his plump body and his curly red hair that ran back from a rather high forehead. “Let me introduce Mr. Chesney Praye,” said her ladyship, and Lois found her hand engulfed in a large moist palm. “Glad to meet you, Miss Reddle.” His voice was pleasantly husky. His keen eyes looked at her with undisguised admiration. “You know Lord Moron?” His lordship nodded and muttered something indistinguishable. “Miss Reddle is my new secretary,” said her ladyship. She pronounced the four syllables of the word as though they were separated. “You may see a great deal of her, Chesney--Mr. Praye is my financial adviser.” He certainly did not look like one who could offer any other advice than on the correct cut of a morning coat or the set of a cravat. He himself was perfectly dressed. Lois had often read the phrase “well-groomed” and now for the first time realised all that it signified, for Mr. Chesney Praye looked as though he had come from the hands of an ardent, hissing hostler, who had brushed and smoothed him until he was speckless and shining. “A pretty nice pitch for you, this, Miss Reddle,” said Praye. “If you don’t get on with her ladyship, I’m a Dutchman! Ever been on the stage?” “No, I haven’t,” she said, with a faint smile, as she recalled old Mackenzie’s warning. “A pity. You ought to have done well on the stage,” he prattled on. “You’ve got the style and the figure and the voice and all that sort of thing. I’ve played for a few years in comedy--it’s a dog’s life for a man and not much better for a woman.” He laughed uproariously, as though at some secret joke, and Lois was surprised that the majestic countess did not chide him for the free and easy attitude which seemed hardly compatible with that of a trusted financial adviser. “I’d like to go on the stage.” It was the silent Lord Moron, and his tone had a note of sulkiness which was surprising. It was as though he were a small boy asking for something which had already been refused. The countess turned her dark, unfriendly eyes upon her son. “You will never go on the stage, Selwyn,” she said firmly. “Please get that nonsense out of your head.”