"That's all very well," said Bradwyn, "but there has been too much arrangement in that marriage! I can tell you how the engagement came about. She was intimate with his aunt. He acquired the habit of her society on all decorous occasions. Still, he never proposed. The aunt invited her to Almouth. She stayed two months. Still, not a word. Her papa grew impatient, ordered her home. The next day she came to the breakfast-table with red eyes, and announced her departure. The boxes were packed; she went to take a last look at the dear garden. Reckage followed, Fate accompanied him. He spoke. She sent a telegram to her papa: 'Detained. Important. Will write.' No, the real woman for him was Lady Sara de Treverell." Ullweather thrust his tongue into his cheek. "Lady Sara has been called to higher destinies," said he, "than the heavenly 'sweet hand in hand!'" "I see you know," said Bradwyn, with a mysterious glance. "Yes," said Ullweather. "The friendship of the Duke of Marshire for Lady Sara increases every day, and the little fit of giddiness which seized him when he was dining with my Chief makes me think that admiration is developing into love. I am in great hopes that this match may come off." "As to that," said Hatchett, "her father and the Duke were the night before last at Brooks's, but no conversation passed between them. This does not look as though a very near alliance were in contemplation." "There are prettier women than she in the world," said Aumerle. "I have never seen her," said Penborough. "Large eyes, a small head, and the devil of a temper," said Bradwyn; "and sympathies--there never was a young woman with so many sympathies! There is an old proverb," he added, with a sneer, "'They are not all friends of the bridegroom who seem to be following the bride.'" Ullweather was still absorbed in his own meditation. "Marshire," said he, "is the man for us. We might do something with Marshire." "Nevertheless," said Penborough, "I have my eye on Orange." "I say," exclaimed Bradwyn, "be careful. Here is Reckage again. How the dickens did he pass us?" The men glanced up at a solitary figure which now appeared descending the broad staircase. In silence, and with a studied expression of contempt, without a look either to the right or to the left, the unpopular leader passed through the hall and out into the street. "A lonely beggar, after all," said Bradwyn. CHAPTER IV