eous tea-gown, swept into the room with a frown
on her strongly-marked face. She looked rather like Maraquito, and
apparently was in a bad temper. Mallow could see that she was
surprised when she entered, as, thinking Lord Caranby was incapacitated
by the accident described by Juliet, she did not know how he came to
call at so late an hour. Moreover, Lord Caranby had never visited her
before. However, she apparently was bent on receiving him in a tragic
manner, and swept forward with the mien of a Siddons. When she came
into the room she caught sight of Cuthbert's face in the blaze of the
lamp and stopped short. "How--" she said in her deepest tone, and then
became prosaic and very angry. "What is the meaning of this, Mr.
Mallow? I hoped to see--"

"My uncle. I know you did. But he is dead."

Mrs. Octagon caught at a chair to stop herself from falling, and wiped
away a tear. "Dead!" she muttered, and dropped on to the sofa.

"He died two hours ago. I am now Lord Caranby."

"You won't grace the position," said Mrs. Octagon viciously, and then
her face became gloomy. "Dead!--Walter Mallow. Ah! I loved him so."

"You had a strange way of showing it then," said Cuthbert, calmly, and
he also took a seat.

Mrs. Octagon immediately rose. "I forbid you to sit down in my house,
Lord Caranby. We are strangers."

"Oh, no, we aren't, Mrs. Octagon. I came here to arrange matters."

"What matters?" she asked disdainfully, and apparently certain he had
nothing against her.

"Matters connected with my marriage with Juliet."

"Miss Saxon, if you please. She shall never marry you."

"Oh, yes, she will. What is your objection to the marriage?"

"I refuse to tell you," said Mrs. Octagon violently, and then somewhat
inconsistently went on:

"If you must know, I hated your uncle."

"You said you loved him just now."

"And so I did," cried the woman, spreading out her arms, "I loved him
intensely. I would have placed the hair of my head under his feet.
But he was never worthy of me. He loved Selina, a poor, weak, silly
fool. But I stopped that marriage," she ended triumphantly, "as I will
stop yours."

"I don't think you will stop mine," replied Cuthbert tranquilly, "I am
not to be coerced, Mrs. Octagon."

"I don't seek to coerce you," she retorted, "but my daughter will obey
me, and she will refuse your hand. I don't care if you are fifty times
Lord Caranby. Juliet should not marry you if you had a