Sir Wilfrid rose, in obedience to a smiling sign from the lady thus described, and followed her floating black draperies towards the farther room.

“Who are those two persons with Lady Henry?” he asked of his guide, as they approached the penetralia where reigned the mistress of the house.  “Ah, I see!—­one is Dr. Meredith—­but the other?”

“The other is Captain Warkworth,” said Mademoiselle Le Breton.  “Do you know him?”

“Warkworth—­Warkworth?  Ah—­of course—­the man who distinguished himself in the Mahsud expedition.  But why is he home again so soon?”

Mademoiselle Le Breton smiled uncertainly.

“I think he was invalided home,” she said, with that manner, at once restrained and gracious, that Sir Wilfrid had already observed in her.  It was the manner of some one who counted; and—­through all outward modesty—­knew it.

“He wants something out of the ministry.  I remember the man,” was Sir Wilfrid’s unspoken comment.

But they had entered the inner room.  Lady Henry looked round.  Over her wrinkled face, now parchment-white, there shone a ray of pleasure—­sudden, vehement, and unfeigned.

“Sir Wilfrid!”

She made a movement as though to rise from her chair, which was checked by his gesture and her helplessness.

“Well, this is good fortune,” she said, as she put both her hands into both of his.  “This morning, as I was dressing, I had a feeling that something agreeable was going to happen at last—­and then your note came.  Sit down there.  You know Dr. Meredith.  He’s as quarrelsome as ever.  Captain Warkworth—­Sir Wilfrid Bury.”

The square-headed, spectacled journalist addressed as Dr. Meredith greeted the new-comer with the quiet cordiality of one for whom the day holds normally so many events that it is impossible to make much of any one of them.  And the man on the farther side of Lady Henry rose and bowed.  He was handsome, and slenderly built.  The touch of impetuosity in his movement, and the careless ease with which he carried his curly head, somehow surprised Sir Wilfrid.  He had expected another sort of person.

“I will give you my chair,” said the Captain, pleasantly.  “I have had more than my turn.”

“Shall I bring in the Duchess?” said Mademoiselle Le Breton, in a low tone, as she stooped over the back of Lady Henry’s chair.

That lady turned abruptly to the speaker.

“Let her do precisely as she pleases,” said a voice, sharp, lowered also, but imperious, like the drawing of a sword.  “If she wants me, she knows where I am.”

“She would be so sorry—­”

“Ne jouez pas la comedie, ma chere!  Where is Jacob?”

“In the other room.  Shall I tell him you want him?”

“I will send for him when it suits me.  Meanwhile, as I particularly desired you to let me know when he arrived—­”

“He has only been here twenty minutes,” murmured Mademoiselle Le Breton.  “I thought while the Bishop was here you would not like to be disturbed—­”