"No! no! let us assure each other that this is the best of all possible worlds--that Beauclerk shows cleverness and good sense, that no one tells lies, no one is treacherous, no one is unjust, malicious, or revengeful nowadays, that friends are friends, and enemies--merely divided in opinions! We must encourage ourselves in a cynical, good-natured toleration of all that is abject and detestable in mankind." "You are too impatient, Lady Sara. You want life concentrated, like a play, into a few acts lasting, say, three hours. Whereas, most lives have no dénouement--so far as lookers-on are concerned!" "At last some one has been able to define me. I am 'impatient.' But you take refuge in that profound silence which is the philosophy of the strong; you don't struggle against the general feeling; you content yourself by going your own gait quietly. You have pride enough to be--nothing, and ambition enough to do--everything. Hark! what is that? They are calling out news in the street." "The current lie," said Orange. "We don't want to hear it." Sara walked to the window and threw it open. "I caught a name," she exclaimed. "It is something about Reckage ... Listen ... Reckage!" Above the din of the traffic, a hoarse duet rose from the street--voice answering voice with a discordant reiteration of one phrase--"_Serious accident to Lord Reckage! Serious accident to Lord Reckage!_" "My God, what are they saying? What are they saying? It is my imagination. It can't be true. I am fancying things. What are they saying?" Orange had already left the room and was in the road. When he returned, he gave her the newspaper and did not attempt to speak. But he closed the window in order to shut out, if possible, the hideous cry. "Where is it? I can't see! In which column?" said Sara. He pointed to a corner on the third page, where she read in black, rough type:-- "_Lord Reckage was thrown from his horse at Hyde Park Corner this afternoon. He was removed to Almouth House. His injuries are said to be of a very dangerous nature._" She crushed the paper in her hand, and the two stood looking at each other, stupefied by the blow. "I am going to him," said Robert. "And I must go home," whispered the girl. "He always said that Pluto would be the death of him." They went down the stairs together without exchanging a word. Orange walked with her to St. James's Square. Neither could speak. On parting, she faltered,-- "Let me know ... how he is...." CHAPTER XXIV Lord Reckage had been carried through the hall of Almouth House, but not up the famous staircase of which he was so proud. He looked at it as they bore him to the library, and although he was still in a kind of stupor, the terrified servants could read in his eyes the certain knowledge that he would never behold the marble walls or the portraits of his ancestors again.