rumour of marriage. He was a tall florid
old bachelor, very red, and much tightened
about the throat, and, as he looked at her
sideways with relish and admiration, his collar
and necktie seemed to fit about his throat as a
frill of paper does about a ham. In one of her
laughs of appreciation the box flew open, and
the sight of the "jack" almost sobered her, but
she had him wired down, in a second.

So, too, with her daughters. They ambled
round in a galop and valse: the elder in the arms
of a "delightful French officer," with a figure like
an hour-glass. So with her sister, who did a
little quiet unostentatious work with a young
English gentleman. They went apart from the
world, and opened a little "store" in a greenhouse
among the plants. Stupid single men
who knew nobody, blundered on them here—in
the desert as it were—and hastily retreated,
mentally whistling.

It came to the end when Lady Laura sounded
the "rappel." Then came the gush of farewell
smiles, general delight and grief: an evening to
look back to. Shafto Lyons, M.P., took out
Lady Laura, and looked fondly after her out of
his paper ham frill, as she drove away. She
shook her fan at him with gay menace. But
when he was in the supper-room telling Fobley
what "a fine woman" he had just taken out,
all the springs had relaxed, and the "fine
woman's" face had sunk, and dropped, and
fallen into hollows. Not a word was spoken
during that mourning-coach progress.

That very night, before she went to bed (a
form she went through from habit), Lady Laura
got out her desk and wrote to her son all in
fact that had passed through her mind that
night. He was to take his own way—ruin
himself if he pleased, ruin them, ruin everybody.
By all means take his own way. She
was sick of the whole business. God knows,
she had had a weary time of it with the whole set.
However, this she begged, that he would never
trouble her by letter or otherwise. In short,
a hot passionate denunciation. She then read
it over with satisfaction, as though she were
delivering it to him in person, and went to bed.
In the morning, when Sir Hopkins came,
she took him aside privately, and showed it.
"There," she said, "it will be a satisfaction to
my mind to have sent him that."

He read it smiling, sat down, talked with her
a good hour, discharged a Waipiti cartridge now
and again, and finally wrote a short note, which
she copied. It ran:

                                                                      Nice.

"My dear Charles,—Your letter was indeed
a surprise. I hope you have not been a little
hasty. However, if you are irretrievably
committed, you must of course go through with
it. You shall see us before long, as the air
of this place someway does not suit Alicia
Mary. I shall let you know when we shall
be in London, where I hope you will try and
meet us.

"Your affectionate Mother,

"LAURA FERMOR"

CHAPTER XXVI. AN INVITATION.

THE lectures on Roger le Garçon were
suspended by more absorbing matter. Fermor
virtually put up "Relâche" at his door. His
head was full of the incidents of his new dignity;
every one was carrying up, as it were, Addresses
to the Throne, and he had to deliver Gracious
Replies. His hands, too, were full enough, and
he was very busy in the mornings writing
prettily-turned notes to many acquaintance,
male and female, and the turn was sometimes
sad, sometimes humorous. "You will be
concerned, dear Mrs. Fazakerly," he wrote,
"to hear of my approaching dissolution."
Which little metaphor, worked pleasantly to
the bottom of the first page, was a humorous
specimen. "You have always, dear Miss
Biddulph, felt such an interest in anything that
concerns my happiness, I cannot let a post go
by without, &c." This was the serious and
plaintive style.

He was busy in this way one morning, some ten
days after Major Carter's party, when his door
was opened, and his cast-iron neighbour, cast-iron
rod in hand, swung in as a crane swings
round—close on the servant, who would have
announced him. "Sit down, Mr. Carlay," said
Fermor, affably; "I am glad to see you."

"And I am glad to hear you say so," said the
other. "I was thinking something had been
done to offend you."

"Quite gratuitous," said Fermor, "I must
say. I hope there has been nothing in my
conduct which a gentleman would not sanction.
O! you are thinking of my unexplained
absence? I see! Ah, there were reasons for
that. I must tell you," continued he, with
something like a simper. "By the way, Miss
Carlay—I hope she is improving?"

"Better, thank you," said the other, rising
suddenly. "I am not a man for seeing the
world, or for managing it, and have no wish to
learn how; therefore, if I do things in a rough
abrupt fashion of my own, you must excuse
me."

"Certainly, certainly," said Fermor, smiling.
"I have knocked about the world a pretty good
time, and am used to that kind of thing."

"Because, if you would not mind taking us
as we are, in the backwoods, as I may say, and
putting up with roughness—in short, would you
dine with us to-day?"

Fermor started. This was a true surprise.
But in a moment he saw the secret springs that
were working. It was very, very odd. This
was always to be the result of his presence.
He had not intended to be more than
gentlemanly—his common manner—he had not,
indeed. Could he help it?

Of a sudden he became gracious and courtly.
He would have the greatest pleasure. He really
liked that sort of thing, no fuss, or state;
"provided," added Fermor, "you treat me as—
one of the family, mind. There, at the mess,
they have got a Frenchman, who lived with Count
Walewski. I believe, in his own line, he is worth
his weight in gold; but, on my word and