He spoke half-musingly and with a little unconscious irony, and the boy, vaguely knowing that there was a cross-current somewhere, drifted. “No, of course not; he can have fun enough without them, can’t he?” Lady Dargan here soothingly broke in, inquiring about Gaston’s illness, and showing a tactful concern. But the nephew persisted: “I say, Belward, Aunt Sophie was cut up no end when she heard of it. She wouldn’t go out to dinner that night at Lord Dunfolly’s, and, of course, I didn’t go. And I wanted to; for Delia Gasgoyne was to be there, and she’s ripping.” Lady Dargan, in spite of herself, blushed, but without confusion, and Gaston adroitly led the conversation otherwhere. Presently she said that they were to be at their villa in France during the late summer, and if he chanced to be abroad would he come? He said that he intended to visit his uncle in Paris, but that afterwards he would be glad to visit them for a short time. She looked astonished. “With your uncle Ian!” “Yes. He is to show me art-life, and all that.” She looked troubled. He saw that she wished to say something. “Yes, Lady Dargan?” he asked. She spoke with fluttering seriousness. “I asked you once to come to me if you ever needed a friend. I do not wait for that. I ask you not to go to your uncle.” “Why?” He was thinking that, despite social artifice and worldliness, she was sentimental. “Because there will be trouble. I can see it. You may trust a woman’s instinct; and I know that man!” He did not reply at once, but presently said: “I fancy I must keep my promise.” “What is the book you are reading?” she said, changing the subject, for Sir William was listening. He opened it, and smiled musingly. “It is called Affairs of Some Consequence in the Reign of Charles I. In reading it I seemed to feel that it was incorrect, and my mind kept wandering away into patches of things--incidents, scenes, bits of talk--as I fancied they really were, not apocryphal or ‘edited’ as here.” “I say,” said Cluny, “that’s rum, isn’t it?” “For instance,” Gaston continued, “this tale of King Charles and Buckingham.” He read it. “Now here is the scene as I picture it.” In quick elliptical phrases he gave the tale from a different stand-point. Sir William stared curiously at Gaston, then felt for some keys in his pocket. He got up and rang the bell. Gaston was still talking. He gave the keys to Falby with a whispered word. In a few moments Falby placed a small leather box beside Sir William, and retired at a nod. Sir William presently said: “Where did you read those things?” “I do not know that I ever read them.” “Did your father tell you them?” “I do not remember so, though he may have.” “Did you ever see this box?” “Never before.” “You do not know what is in it?” “Not in the least.” “And you have never seen this key?” “Not to my knowledge.”