“How do you do, Mr. Heigham?  I hope that you are not bruised after your tumble yesterday.  Good morning, John.”

Arthur rose and shook hands.

“I never was more surprised in my life,” he said, “than when I saw you and Sir John at the top of the street there.  May I ask what brought you to Madeira?”

“Health, sir, health,” answered the little man.  “Cough, catarrh, influenza, and all that’s damn——­ah! infernal!”

“My husband, Mr. Heigham,” struck in Lady Bellamy, in her full, rich tones, “had a severe threatening of chest disease, and the doctor recommended a trip to some warmer climate.  Unfortunately, however, his business arrangements will not permit of a long stay.  We only stop here three weeks at most.”

“I am sorry to hear that you are not well, Sir John.”

“Oh! it is nothing very much,” answered Lady Bellamy for him; “only he requires care.  What a lovely garden this is—­is it not?  By the way, I forgot to inquire after the ladies who shared your tumble.  I hope that they were none the worse.  I was much struck with one of them, the very pretty person with the brown hair, whom you pulled out of the gutter.”

“Oh, Mrs. Carr.  Yes, she is pretty.”

After breakfast, Arthur volunteered to take Lady Bellamy round the garden, with the ulterior object of extracting some more information about Angela.  It must be remembered that he had no cause to mistrust that lady, nor had he any knowledge of the events which had recently happened in the neighbourhood of the Abbey House.  He was therefore perfectly frank with her.

“I suppose that you have heard of my engagement, Lady Bellamy?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Heigham; it is quite a subject of conversation in the Roxham neighbourhood.  Angela Caresfoot is a sweet and very beautiful girl, and I congratulate you much.”

“You know, then, of its conditions?”

“Yes, I heard of them, and thought them ridiculous.  Indeed I tried, at Angela’s suggestion, to do you a good turn with Philip Caresfoot, and get him to modify them; but he would not.  He is a curious man, Philip, and, when he once gets a thing into his head, it is beyond the power of most people to drive it out again.  I suppose that you are spending your year of probation here?”

“Well, yes—­I am trying to get through the time in that way; but it is slow work.”

“I thought you seemed pretty happy yesterday,” she answered, smiling.

Arthur blushed.

“Oh! yes, I may appear to be.  But tell me all about Angela.”

“I have really very little to tell.  She seems to be living as usual, and looks well.  Her friend Mr. Fraser has come back.  But I must be going in; I have promised to go out walking with Sir John. Au revoir, Mr. Heigham.”

Left to himself, Arthur remembered that he also had an appointment to keep—­namely, to meet Mildred by the Cathedral steps, and go with her to choose some Madeira jewellery, an undertaking which she did not feel competent to carry out without his assistance.