Rossett was very delighted with his chief, one of those sane men of affairs, a perfect aristocrat with just sufficient business instinct, who can safely be appointed to an important post. A man who thought clearly, saw far ahead, and made few mistakes, a man at once calm, temperate, and equable. This Ambassador, on his side, had welcomed him warmly. With the natural prejudice of his class, he always preferred his colleagues to come from the old governing families; they thought his thoughts, they spoke his language. If sometimes they lacked a little in brains and initiative, they had a large balance on the right side in deportment and integrity, two very important assets, especially in a monarchical country. Besides, he was an old friend of Lord Saxham. They had been colleagues together in their youth. Lord Saxham was of a too violent and volcanic temperament to rise high in the diplomatic or any other profession. Had he possessed a little more balance, he might have sat in many cabinets. But no Prime Minister who knew his business could run the risk of including him. But, none the less, he exercised a certain outside influence. Rossett wrote every day to his beloved Isobel; if he had time, long letters; if diplomatic affairs were pressing, short ones, assuring her of his unalterable affection. Isobel wrote every day also, most voluminous epistles, covering six or eight sheets of the flimsy notepaper. He wrote once a week to his dear sister, Mary, only second in his heart to Isobel. And Mary also replied at great length, but she was not quite so voluminous as Isobel. Her letters were generally taken up with reviewing, with her kind, gentle humour, the tantrums of her father, who appeared to be growing more explosive than ever. Rossett had exchanged one letter with his father, to which he got a reply. Lord Saxham was not a great letter-writer, he kept to the point, and used as few words as possible. "Glad to hear you are getting on with Stonehenge--a very good fellow! Stick to it, my dear boy, and I will work for you at this end with Greatorex. We shall see you an Ambassador yet." Guy smiled when he got this brief reply. He knew as well as Mary that his father did not care twopence as to whether he got on in his profession or not. He was only glad his son was out in Spain, because his sojourn in that country separated him from Isobel Clandon. How frightfully obstinate he was! He often longed for his sweetheart, but still the days were very pleasant. He speedily found himself popular in the society of Madrid. He had been received graciously by the King, who knew England well, equally graciously by the Queen, in her maidenhood a Princess of our own British stock. One man in particular had sought to attach himself to him, a man a few years older than himself, a certain Duke del Pineda.