And then, barely a year later, the line in a London newspaper which had reached him at Madrid, chronicling the death of Marriott Dalrymple, as of a man once on the threshold of fame, but long since exiled from the thoughts of practical men.  Lady Rose, too, was dead—­many years since; so much he knew.  But how, and where?  And the child?

She was now “Mademoiselle Le Breton “?—­the centre and apparently the chief attraction of Lady Henry’s once famous salon?

“And, by Jove! several of her kinsfolk there, relations of the mother or the father, if what I suppose is true!” thought Sir Wilfrid, remembering one or two of the guests.  “Were they—­was she—­aware of it?”

* * * * *

The old man strode on, full of a growing eagerness, and was soon on Lady Henry’s doorstep.

“Her ladyship is in the dining-room,” said the butler, and Sir Wilfrid was ushered there straight.

“Good-morning, Wilfrid,” said the old lady, raising herself on her silver—­headed sticks as he entered.  “I prefer to come down-stairs by myself.  The more infirm I am, the less I like it—­and to be helped enrages me.  Sit down.  Lunch is ready, and I give you leave to eat some.”

“And you?” said Sir Wilfrid, as they seated themselves almost side by side at the large, round table in the large, dingy room.

The old lady shook her head.

“All the world eats too much.  I was brought up with people who lunched on a biscuit and a glass of sherry.”

“Lord Russell?—­Lord Palmerston?” suggested Sir Wilfrid, attacking his own lunch meanwhile with unabashed vigor.

“That sort.  I wish we had their like now.”

“Their successors don’t please you?”

Lady Henry shook her head.

“The Tories have gone to the deuce, and there are no longer enough Whigs even to do that.  I wouldn’t read the newspapers at all if I could help it.  But I do.”

“So I understand,” said Sir Wilfrid; “you let Montresor know it last night.”

“Montresor!” said Lady Henry, with a contemptuous movement.  “What a poseur!  He lets the army go to ruin, I understand, while he joins Dante societies.”

Sir Wilfrid raised his eyebrows.

“I think, if I were you, I should have some lunch,” he said, gently pushing the admirable salmi which the butler had left in front of him towards his old friend.

Lady Henry laughed.

“Oh, my temper will be better presently, when those men are gone”—­she nodded towards the butler and footman in the distance—­“and I can have my say.”