oselawn
made the outside world something so remote and apart that there was
genuine curiosity to discover what the deuce it had been doing with
itself during the house-party's retreat.

Lord Durwent read the _Morning Post_ as a sort of 'prairie oyster' or
'bromo-seltzer.' It settled him. There was something about that
journal's editorial page and its dignified treatment of events that
made Roselawn seem the embodiment of British principle. Being a man
who prided himself on a catholicity of view-point, he also subscribed
to the _Daily Mail_--that frivolous young thing that has as many
editions as a _debutante_ has frocks, and by its super-delicate
apparatus at Carmelite House can detect a popular clamour before it is
louder than a kitten's miaow.

As a concession to the ladies of the household, he took, in addition,
the _Daily Sketch_ and the _Daily Mirror_, those two energetic
illustrated papers, which, benefiting from the remarkable geographical
fact that every place of consequence in England is exactly two hours
from London, are able to offer photos of riders in Rotten How, bathers
at Brighton, rowers at Oxford, and foreign monarchs walking at Windsor,
the very morning after all these remarkable persons have astonished the
world by riding, bathing, rowing, or walking.

But to Lord Durwent these papers and the _Daily Mail_ were but
interludes. The _Morning Post_ was the real business of life, and
after reading through its solid columns of type, he enjoyed the
sensation of somehow having done something for his country.

II.

It was just before the arrival of the morning papers that Selwyn
descended to the dining-room. Helping himself to porridge, he answered
Lady Durwent's polite conventional questions.

'And _how_ did you sleep?' asked his hostess, putting into the inquiry
that artistic personal touch which made it seem as if this were the
first time she had asked the question, and he the first guest to whom
it had been propounded.

'Lady Durwent,' he answered, smiling, 'I haven't the faintest idea.'

'Then,' said his hostess, triumphantly explaining the obvious, 'you
must have slept well.'

Selwyn thought that when he answered Lady Durwent's query a quick look
of relief had passed across the face of Elise. It was for her peace of
mind he had lied, as into the hours of dawn he had lain awake, trying
to unravel the meaning of the nocturnal scene. He knew that her
prodigal brother had been forbidden