“You’ve seen Jimmy this morning, Betty!” Mary exclaimed.

“Well, how could I help it, girls?” Lady Betty went on, feeling that she was now a heroine.  “I had to come to you.  It was my bounden duty; and it’s miles away, for Aunt Muriel always will have me in the dressing-room next her, when she takes me to stay out, and Uncle Aubrey across the passage; and it makes him so cross.  But that’s not it.  I mean, it is not my fault, if the Duke has only arranged three new bathrooms down the bachelors’ wing, and people are obliged to be waiting about for their turn, and I had to pass the entrance to that passage, and it happened to be Jimmy’s, and he was just going in, when he saw me and rushed along, and said ‘Good morning,’ not a bit put out!  I thought it would look silly to run, so I said ‘Good morning,’ too; and then we both giggled, and I came on.  But I am rather glad after all, because now I’ve seen him; and he looks better—­like that—­than I am sure Bobby would have done, so perhaps, after all, I’ll marry him!  And you will be my bridesmaids, darlings, and now I must run!”

Upon such slender threads—­the brushing of his hair—­how often does the fate of man hang!  If he but knew!

Almost every one was punctual for breakfast.  They all came in with their gifts for Lady Ethelrida; and there was much chaffing and joking, and delightful little shrieks of surprise, as the parcels were opened.

Every soul loved Lady Ethelrida, from the lordly Groom of the Chambers to the humblest pantry boy and scullery maid; and it was their delight every year to present her, from them all, with a huge trophy of flowers, while the post brought countless messages and gifts of remembrance from absent friends.  No one could have been more sweet and gracious than her ladyship was; and underneath, her gentle heart was beating with an extra excitement, when she thought of her rendezvous at half-past ten o’clock.  Would he—­she no longer thought of him as Mr. Markrute—­would he be able to find the way?

“I must go and give some orders now,” she said, about a quarter past ten, to the group which surrounded her, when they had all got up and were standing beside the fire.  “And we all assemble in the hall at eleven.”  And so she slipped away.

Francis Markrute, she noticed, had retired some moments before.

“Heinrich,” he had said to his Austrian valet, the previous evening, as he was helping him on with his coat for dinner, “I may want to know the locality of the Lady Ethelrida’s sitting-room early to-morrow.  Make it your business to become friendly with her ladyship’s maid, so that I can have a parcel of books, which will arrive in the morning, placed safely there at any moment I want to, unobserved.  Unpack the books, leaving their tissue papers still upon them, and bring them in when you call me.  I will give you further orders then for their disposal.  You understand?”

It was as well to be prepared for anything, he thought, which was most fortunate, as it afterwards turned out.  He had meant to make her ask him to her sitting-room in any case, and his happiness was augmented, as they had talked in the picture gallery, when she did it of her own accord.