"Ah!" ejaculated Claudius, "any one else?"

"Not that I know of. Will you go?"

"It is rather sudden," said the Doctor reflectively.

"You must make up your mind one way or the other, or you will spoil the
Duke's arrangements."

"Barker," said Claudius seriously, "do you suppose the Countess knows
who are going?"

"My dear boy," replied the other, peeling a peach which he had impaled
on a fork, "it is not likely the Duke would ask a lady to go with him
without telling her who the men were to be. Be calm, however; I have
observed your habits, and in two hours and twenty-three minutes your
mind will be at rest."

"How so?"

"It is now thirty-seven minutes past nine. Do you mean to say you have
failed once for weeks past to be at the Countess's as the clock strikes
twelve?"

Claudius was silent. It was quite true; he went there daily at the same
hour; for, as appeared in the beginning of this tale, he was a regular
man. But he reflected just now that the Countess would not be likely to
speak of the party unless she knew that he was to be one. He had not
accepted his invitation yet, and the Duke would certainly not take his
acceptance as a foregone conclusion. Altogether it seemed probable that
he would be kept in suspense. If he then accepted without being sure of
the Countess, he was binding himself to leave her. Claudius had many
things to learn yet.

"If I were you," said Barker, "I would write at once and say 'Yes.' Why
can't you do it now?"

"Because I have not made up my mind."

"Well, a bird in the hand is the soul of business, as the good old
proverb says. I have accepted for myself, anyhow; but I would be sorry
to leave you on this side."

So Claudius went to the Countess as usual, and found her in her
morning-room awaiting him. He bent over her hand, but as he took it he
thought it was a trifle colder than usual. It might have been
imagination, but he fancied her whole manner was less cordial than
before. And he said to himself, "She has heard I am going, and she is
annoyed, and is not glad to see me." There was a preternatural solemnity
about their conversation which neither of them could break through, and
in a few minutes they both looked as though they had not smiled for
years.

Now Claudius was entirely mistaken. Margaret had not heard that he was
going. If she had, she would have spoken frankly, as was her nature to
do always, if she spoke at all. Margaret had accepted the Duke's
invitat