The Earl grunted. "You hear daily from Isobel?" "Of course, but Isobel is a woman. She tells me what she is allowed to know. Because she is a woman, Guy and Moreno keep everything from her. They make out the path is strewn with roses. They will not tell her the truth, for fear of frightening her." "Then where are you going to get your information from?" asked the Earl querulously. There was a long pause. When she spoke, a faint colour dyed Lady Mary's cheek. "I wonder if that young barrister would know anything; I almost forget his name--you remember, Isobel's cousin who came down to Ticehurst and arranged her journey to Spain. Yes, I remember, Maurice Farquhar. He is a bosom friend of that Spanish man, Moreno, who, I fancy, is trying his best to defeat the anarchists." The Earl was, fortunately, very unobservant to-day. "Yes, I remember him quite well, a perfectly decent sort of young fellow. A rather forlorn hope, eh?" The flush had died away from Mary's cheek. She had regained her self-control. She spoke quite calmly. "Yes, I agree, but drowning people catch at a straw. Let me ask him to dinner, and find out if he knows anything." Lord Saxham was certainly in his most benignant mood. "By all means. He might be useful." Lady Mary wrote a note to Farquhar, addressed to his chambers in the Temple. It was a somewhat formal letter--when she put pen to paper, Mary was always formal--inviting him to dine in Belgrave Square. Farquhar's first impulse was to refuse. He had no wish to mingle with the aristocracy on unequal terms. When he became Lord Chancellor, it would be a different matter. Then he thought of Lady Mary's winsome appearance, and he altered his mind. He sent a note accepting the invitation. But of course he knew why he was being asked. They wanted to know if he could give any reliable information about Guy Rossett. He presented himself at Belgrave Square on the tick of the clock. Not for him the _mauvais quart d'heure_ consecrated to meaningless conversation in the drawing-room. Lord Saxham shook him kindly by the hand. Lady Mary was graciousness itself. Could she ever be anything but kind, even if there was, at the back, a little subtle feminine diplomacy. It was a party of three, waited on in solemn state by the butler and two footmen. There was not even a fourth to make matters even. Farquhar smiled inwardly. These two guileless persons, father and daughter, must have desired his company exceedingly! Well, he would learn all about it later on. The servants had withdrawn. The men smoked. Lady Mary did not leave the room. It was an informal party. Farquhar puffed leisurely at his cigar. He was awaiting developments. Saxham opened the ball. He was a most undisciplined person. He was always like a bull in a china shop, charging with blind fury.