dinner-party, just two or three
friends, in his own room? Sir Magnus would not have been very angry,--he
was rarely very angry,--but he should like to show his cleverness by
finding it out. Anderson had been quite well when he was out riding, and
he did not remember him ever before to have had a headache. "Is he very
bad, Arbuthnot?"

"I haven't seen him, sir, since he was riding."

"Who has seen him?"

"He was in the garden with me," said Florence, boldly.

"I suppose that did not give him a headache."

"Not that I perceived."

"It is very singular that he should have a headache just when dinner is
ready," continued Sir Magnus.

"You had better leave the young man alone," said Lady Mountjoy.

And one who knew the ways of living at the British Embassy would be sure
that after this Sir Magnus would not leave the young man alone. His
nature was not simple. It seemed to him again that there might be a
little dinner-party, and that Lady Mountjoy knew all about it.
"Richard," he said to the butler, "go into Mr. Anderson's room and see
if he is very bad." Richard came back, and whispered to the great man
that Anderson was not in his room. "This is very remarkable. A bad
headache, and not in his room! Where is he? I insist on knowing where
Mr. Anderson is!"

"You had better leave him alone," said Lady Mountjoy.

"Leave a man alone because he's ill! He might die."

"Shall I go and see?" said Arbuthnot.

"I wish you would, and bring him in here, if he's well enough to show. I
don't approve of a young man going without his dinner. There's nothing
so bad."

"He'll be sure to get something, Sir Magnus," said Lady Mountjoy. But
Sir Magnus insisted that Mr. Arbuthnot should go and look after his
friend.

It was now November, and at eight o'clock was quite dark, but the
weather was fine, and something of the mildness of autumn remained.
Arbuthnot was not long in discovering that Mr. Anderson was again
walking in the garden. He had left Florence there and had gone to the
house, but had found himself to be utterly desolate and miserable. She
had exacted from him a promise which was not compatible with any kind of
happiness to which he could now look forward. In the first place, all
Brussels knew that he had been in love with Florence Mountjoy. He
thought that all Brussels knew it. And they knew that he had been in
earnest in this love. He did believe that all Brussels had given him
credit for so much. And now they wou