Jacob had understood that Madame Bornier and the little girl had gone straight to Bruges.

The Duchess looked down and then looked up.

“Did—­did you come across Major Warkworth?”

“Yes, I saw him for a moment in the Rue de la Paix, He was starting for Rome.”

The Duchess turned away as though ashamed of her question, and gave her orders for the carriage.  Then her attention was suddenly drawn to her cousin.  “How pale you look, Jacob,” she said, approaching him.  “Won’t you have something—­some wine?”

Delafield refused, declaring that all he wanted was an hour or two’s sleep.

“I go back to Paris to-morrow,” he said, as he prepared to take his leave.  “Will you be here to-night if I look in?”

“Alack! we go to Scotland to-night!  It was just a piece of luck that you found me this morning.  Freddie is fuming to get away.”

Delafield paused a moment.  Then he abruptly shook hands and went.

“He wants news of what happens at St. James’s Square,” thought the Duchess, suddenly, and she ran after him to the top of the stairs.  “Jacob!  If you don’t mind a horrid mess to-night, Freddie and I shall be dining alone—­of course we must have something to eat.  Somewhere about eight.  Do look in.  There’ll be a cutlet—­on a trunk—­anyway.”

Delafield laughed, hesitated, and finally accepted.

The Duchess went back to the drawing-room, not a little puzzled and excited.

“It’s very, very odd,” she said to herself.  “And what is the matter with Jacob?”

* * * * *

Half an hour later she drove to the splendid house in St. James’s Square where Lord Lackington lay dying.

She asked for Lord Uredale, the eldest son, and waited in the library till he came.

He was a tall, squarely built man, with fair hair already gray, and somewhat absent and impassive manners.

At sight of him the Duchess’s eyes filled with tears.  She hurried to him, her soft nature dissolved in sympathy.

“How is your father?”

“A trifle easier, though the doctors say there is no real improvement.  But he is quite conscious—­knows us all.  I have just been reading him the debate.”

“You told me yesterday he had asked for Miss Le Breton,” said the Duchess, raising herself on tiptoe as though to bring her low tones closer to his ear.  “She’s here—­in town, I mean.  She came back from Paris last night.”

Lord Uredale showed no emotion of any kind.  Emotion was not in his line.

“Then my father would like to see her,” he said, in a dry, ordinary voice, which jarred upon the sentimental Duchess.

“When shall I bring her?”

“He is now comfortable and resting.  If you are free—­”

The Duchess replied that she would go to Heribert Street at once.  As Lord Uredale took her to her carriage a young man ran down the steps hastily, raised his hat, and disappeared.