"So good for you feeling that, dear old boy, and equally good for Eric. I expect dad has woken up by now, and wondering where we have got to." They found the Earl wide-awake. The doze of a few minutes over his port had refreshed him immensely. He fell at once to discussing Spain, a country he knew well. In his youth, Lord Saxham had been an attache at the Spanish Court, and he knew the ropes. Guy listened respectfully to his father. The old man concluded his somewhat rambling remarks with a final exhortation. "And remember, my dear boy, always to keep on the right side of Greatorex. He _is_ the Foreign Office. Secretaries, mere figure-heads, come and go with different Governments. Greatorex remains there, permanent, unchangeable. Get into his good graces, and your fortune is made." Guy promised that he would do his best to propitiate the all-powerful Greatorex. Two days later he left. He undertook to pay them a farewell visit before he started for Spain. The Earl and his daughter watched the car flying down the avenue. The old man turned to his daughter with a grunt. "Might have given us another couple of days, I think. But I know what's in his mind. He is running down to Eastbourne after that minx." He always alluded to Isobel Clandon as "that minx," owing to his unreasonable prejudice against her. Mary spoke with spirit. "Very natural under the circumstances, I should think. He would want to see something of the girl he loves before he left." Lord Saxham turned on her angrily. "Mary, I have always thought you a sensible woman. Do you mean to tell me you are going to aid and abet him in his folly." Lady Mary answered him in a few words. "I don't call it folly, father." She walked out of the room, with a resolute expression on her face, and uplifted chin. She would have been the last to admit it, but she had inherited no small share of the family obstinacy. CHAPTER TWO. Mrs Hargrave sat in her pretty flat in Mount Street, absorbed in deep thought. On her lap lay an open letter, and it was a passage in that letter just received which accounted for her preoccupation. She was a pretty woman, _petite_ and slender, with clear-cut, refined features and delicate colouring. She had soft, candid blue eyes, and a wealth of fair hair which was always arranged in the most becoming fashion. In a strong and searching light, a keen judge would have guessed her real age, just a little over the wrong side of thirty. But she was quite a clever person, and she always avoided strong lights as much as possible. Under favourable conditions, most people took her to be at least four or five years younger. She owned herself to twenty-six.