“I say, Browne, would you mind coming into my room?  I want to hear that story, but I’m hanged if I’ll listen to it out here.”

The oft-told story of the bishop and the bell, of course, has no bearing upon the affairs of Miss Pelham and Thomas Saunders.  And, for that matter, the small affairs of that worthy couple have little or no bearing upon the chief issue involved in this tale.  Nobody cares a rap whether Saunders, middle-aged and unheroic bachelor, with his precise little “burnsides,” won the heart of the pert Miss Pelham, precise in character if not always so in type.  It is of no serious consequence that she kept him from calling her Minnie until the psychological moment, and it really doesn’t matter that Thomas was days in advancing to the moment.  It is only necessary to break in upon them occasionally for the purpose of securing legal advice, or the equally unromantic desire to have a bit of typewriting done.  We are not alone in this heartless and uncharitable obtrusion.  Deppingham, phlegmatic soul, was forever disturbing Saunders with calls to duty, although Saunders was brutish enough, in his British way, to maintain (in confidence, of course) that he was in the employ of Lady Deppingham, or no one at all.  Nevertheless, he always lived under the shadow of duty.  At any moment, his lordship was liable to send for him to ask the time of day—­or some equally important question.  And this brings us to the hour when Saunders unfolded his startling solution to the problem that confronted them all.

First, he confided in Britt, soberly, sagely and in perfect good faith.  Britt was bowled over.  He stared at Saunders and gasped.  Nearly two minutes elapsed before he could find words to reply; which proves conclusively that it must have been something of a shock to him.  When at last he did express himself, however, there was nothing that could have been left unsaid—­absolutely nothing.  He went so far as to call Saunders a doddering fool and a great many other things that Saunders had not in the least expected.

The Englishman was stubborn.  They had it back and forth, from legal and other points of view, and finally Britt gave in to his colleague, reserving the right to laugh when it was all over.  Saunders, with a determination that surprised even himself, called for a conference of all parties in Wyckholme’s study, at four o’clock.

It was nearly six before Lady Deppingham arrived, although she had but forty steps to traverse.  Mr. and Mrs. Browne were there fully half an hour earlier.  Deppingham appeared at four and then went away.  He was discovered asleep in the hanging garden, however, and at once joined the others.  Miss Pelham was present with her note book.  The Princess was invited by Lady Deppingham, who held no secrets from her, but the royal young lady preferred to go out walking with her dogs.  Pong, the red cocker, attended the session and twice snarled at Mr. Saunders, for no other reason than that it is a dog’s prerogative to snarl when and at whom he chooses.