then he rarely got a good dinner—­what he called a good dinner.  He often took Anderson with him.  He was the doyen among the diplomats in Brussels, and a little indulgence was shown to him.  Therefore he thought that Anderson should be as true to him as was he to Anderson.  It was not for Anderson’s sake, indeed, who felt the bondage to be irksome;—­and Sir Magnus knew that his subordinate sometimes groaned in spirit.  But a good dinner is a good dinner,—­especially the best dinner in Brussels,—­and Sir Magnus felt that something ought to be given in return.  He had not that perfect faith in mankind which is the surest evidence of a simple mind.  Ideas crowded upon him.  Had Anderson a snug little 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