He replaced the receiver.

"Lady Mary Felixstowe is calling here, Dauncey," he announced. "She can be shown in at once."

Lady Mary, very smart in white muslin and a black hat, followed hard upon her telephone message. She was full of curiosity and without the least embarra.s.sment.

"Don't tell me that all your money is made in a little office like this!" she exclaimed, as she sank into the easy-chair.

"It isn't," he a.s.sured her. "It's all made in America. I simply sit here and try to keep it."

"Am I being at all unusual in visiting you like this?" she asked.

"I've had visits from lady clients before," he replied. "Let us a.s.sume that you have come to consult me about an eight-roomed villa at Cropstone."

"Cropstone?" she repeated. "That is the sort of garden city place, isn't it, where one has a doll's house with fifty feet of garden, a lecture hall with free cookery lectures twice a week, and a strap-hang in a motor-car to the station every morning."

"One might accept that as a pessimistic impression of the place,"

Jacob conceded.

Lady Mary sighed.

"That is where I shall have to live," she said, "if I marry Maurice."

Jacob was suddenly thoughtful. He was thinking of a small rose garden at Cropstone and a watering can.

"If you care enough," he ventured gravely, "the conditions of life don't seem to matter so much, do they?"

She made a little grimace.

"How is Miss Bultiwell?" she asked, with apparent irrelevance.

"I was going to ask you," Jacob replied. "I have not seen her since the night I dined at your house."

"She is still with my aunt, I believe," Lady Mary continued. "The children adore her."

"Have you seen her lately?" Jacob asked.

"Last week. Promise you won't be broken-hearted if I tell you something?"

"I'll try."

"I met her in the Park--with whom do you think?"

"No idea."

"With Maurice. Of course, I didn't ask any questions, and they might have met accidentally, but I never saw Maurice look such an idiot. I think a man ought to be able to conceal his feelings, don't you, Mr.

Pratt? Should you look an idiot, now, if your fiancee were to discover you with another girl?"

"Such a thing would probably never happen," Jacob answered. "I am of an extraordinarily faithful disposition."

She laughed at him across the desk.

"Isn't that queer! So am I! What a lot we have in common, Mr. Pratt!"

"I am beginning to realise it," Jacob a.s.sented.

"If only I could make you forget Sybil!"

"If only Sybil would allow me to forget her!" Jacob groaned.

"What you need," she said earnestly, "is to see more of other nice-looking, attractive young women of somewhat similar type."

"There may be something in that," he conceded.

"Apropos of which, let me explain my visit. I was told to telephone to you, but I hate a conversation down a tube, don't you?"

"I certainly prefer your visit."

"We've such a rag on," Lady Mary continued. "We're going to have a picnic fortnight up at our place in Scotland. We want to know whether you'll come. Dad told me to say that there was plenty of fishing and a grouse moor for later on. Sailing, of course."

"It sounds delightful," Jacob replied enthusiastically. "Right up in Scotland you say? To tell you the truth, I was just wondering whether I couldn't drop out of things quietly for a week or so."

"It will be absolutely the end of us," she declared, smiling out of her very blue eyes. "Maurice has been a perfect brute to me lately, apart from his flirtation with Miss Bultiwell, and I have almost left off loving him. I know we shall both fall. I'm so affectionate," she sighed.

Jacob felt suddenly soothed. Lady Mary was looking very attractive and her eyes were full of challenge.

"But tell me," he asked, "isn't it very early for you to leave town?"

She nodded.

"To tell you the truth," she confided, "dad seems to have got into terrible disgrace with all his relatives lately. Something to do with a money scheme, I think, in which they were all interested, and in which he seems to have done better than they did."

"I quite understand," Jacob murmured. "I think this temporary isolation is an excellent idea of your father's. Sort of place, I suppose, where you get a post once a week and no telegrams."

"You won't mind?"

"Not I!"

"And you'll come?"

"Rather! When do you start?"

"Some servants are going up to-day," she replied, "and I think we shall go with them by the midnight train. Poor dad is being so worried. We'd like you to come to-morrow, or as soon as you can. And there's just one thing more. Except for your own people here, dad would like you not to mention where you are going. He wants a little peace, poor man."

"I won't tell a soul except my secretary," Jacob promised.

"Not even Jack," Lady Mary persisted.

"Very well. Not even Lord Felixstowe."