room. Now, mix yourself another drink and light up another
cigar--not bad, are they--and tell me all you've been doing."

* * * * *

At a quarter to four the following day Howard put in his appearance at
Lady Fitzharford's house in Eaton Square.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come," she said: everybody was pleased to see
Howard; "you are just the man I want. That sweet creature, Miss Heron,
is coming here directly to try over some songs with me--I'm going to
sing at that Bazaar, you know--and as you know something of music--is
there anything you don't know, Mr. Howard?--you can give us your
opinion."

"With the greatest pleasure, my dear lady," responded Howard; "but on
two conditions: one, that you don't take my opinion; the other, that
you leave me alone with Miss Heron, directly she comes, for a quarter
of an hour."

Lady Fitzharford stared at him.

"Are you going to propose to her?" she asked, with a smile.

"No," he replied; "I am tired of proposing."

"Well, I don't think she would accept you," said Lady Fitzharford, "she
has had the most wonderful offers; she has refused Lord Edwin, the
Bannerdales' son and heir, and, I believe, the Duke of Glarn--"

"I know, I know!" said Howard, more quickly than usual. "I can hear her
on the stairs. Oh, vanish, my dear lady, an' you love me!"

Lady Fitzharford had scarcely left the room, laughing, and not a little
puzzled, before the servant admitted Ida. She was pale, and the look of
sadness in her eyes was even more palpable than on the preceding night.
She blushed for an instant as she gave her hand to Howard.

"Lady Fitzharford has gone to get her music, Miss Heron," he said; "she
bade me make her excuses; she will be here presently. It is so good of
you to remember our appointment! When I came to think it over, I was
quite ashamed, do you know, at the obtrusive way in which I pressed the
subject of my friend, Lord Highcliffe's condition, upon you. But mind,
though, I do think you would feel interested in his letter. He has a
knack, unintellectual as he is"--Ida rose readily to the fly again and
flashed a momentary glance of indignation at him from her violet
eyes--"a child-like way of describing scenes and incidents in a kind of
graphic style which--What an idiot I am!" he broke off to exclaim, he
had been feeling in his pocket; "I have actually left the letter at
home! Please forgive me. But perhaps you will regard my lapse of memory