"Isobel doesn't want to go back to Eastbourne--that is quite natural. She is eager to go to Spain, to be near Guy. Of course nothing binds her to this country now." Mr Farquhar was not to be hurried. His judicial mind, if it worked a little slowly, also worked very surely. "I should not say that, at the present moment, Spain was a very desirable country for anybody, still less so for a young and unprotected woman." He looked rather disapprovingly at Isobel for having harboured such daring thoughts. "I shall take a maid, one of the servants we had at Eastbourne," said Isobel, in a rather quaking voice. She had sense enough to see that, at the best, it was a wild venture. Lady Mary shot at him an appealing glance. "Don't you think you had better let Isobel have her way? And I expect she will have it whether you approve or not." There was also a little something more in that glance than Mary was quite conscious of. And the little something was this: Why was Maurice Farquhar so foolishly in love with Isobel, while Isobel was so devoted to Guy Rossett? Farquhar looked from the younger to the elder girl. Lady Mary was very comely, she had behind her a long line of illustrious ancestry. She had been very sweet and gracious to him. "Do you approve this rather daring scheme, Lady Mary?" "On the whole, I think I do. Of course, I recognise the objections to it. But Isobel cannot go back to Eastbourne. If she stays in England she will be eating her heart out." Farquhar was, perhaps unconsciously, swayed by Lady Mary. He made up his mind to regard the suggestion with some degree of favour. "I will do all I can to help. Unfortunately, I know next to nothing of Spain. But I have a friend who knows it from A to Z. I will write to him and see how I can get her planted there." Of course, Lady Mary knew that Moreno was the friend. Isobel thanked him warmly. "How sweet and dear of you," she said. "Of course you understand, now my dear father is gone, there is nothing left but Guy." Farquhar understood. His cousin had spoken with the unconscious cruelty of the self-centred lover. She had not considered Maurice's feelings at all. Farquhar rose. "I will write the letter at once, if you will permit me." He turned to Lady Mary, who led him to a small morning-room, and spread paper and envelopes before him. "You are very fond of Isobel?" he asked, before he began his letter, a rather long one, to Moreno. "I love her like a younger sister, Mr Farquhar," replied Mary enthusiastically. "And, of course, she very soon will be my sister. And, moreover, being a woman, I love all true lovers. She and Guy are so absorbed in each other." "Ah!" said the youthful barrister shortly. "And you love your brother too?" "Dear old Guy! I simply adore him. He is one of the most lovable of men."