Julius groaned in spirit.  The finest music which Mozart has written for the violin associates that instrument with the piano.  Without the wife to help him, the husband was mute.  After an instant’s consideration, Julius hit on an idea which promised, in some degree, to remedy the disaster of Mrs. Delamayn’s absence from home.

“Has Mrs. Glenarm gone out, too?” he asked.

“No, Sir.”

“My compliments.  If Mrs. Glenarm has nothing else to do, will she be so kind as to come to me in the music-room?”

The servant went away with his message.  Julius seated himself on one of the terrace-benches, and began to tune his violin.

Mrs. Glenarm—­rightly reported by Bishopriggs as having privately taken refuge from her anonymous correspondent at Swanhaven Lodge—­was, musically speaking, far from being an efficient substitute for Mrs. Delamayn.  Julius possessed, in his wife, one of the few players on the piano-forte under whose subtle touch that shallow and soulless instrument becomes inspired with expression not its own, and produces music instead of noise.  The fine organization which can work this miracle had not been bestowed on Mrs. Glenarm.  She had been carefully taught; and she was to be trusted to play correctly—­and that was all.  Julius, hungry for music, and reigned to circumstances, asked for no more.

The servant returned with his answer.  Mrs. Glenarm would join Mr. Delamayn in the music-room in ten minutes’ time.

Julius rose, relieved, and resumed his sauntering walk; now playing little snatches of music, now stopping to look at the flowers on the terrace, with an eye that enjoyed their beauty, and a hand that fondled them with caressing touch.  If Imperial Parliament had seen him at that moment, Imperial Parliament must have given notice of a question to his illustrious father:  Is it possible, my lord, that you can have begotten such a Member as this?

After stopping for a moment to tighten one of the strings of his violin, Julius, raising his head from the instrument, was surprised to see a lady approaching him on the terrace.  Advancing to meet her, and perceiving that she was a total stranger to him, he assumed that she was, in all probability, a visitor to his wife.

“Have I the honor of speaking to a friend of Mrs. Delamayn’s?” he asked.  “My wife is not at home, I am sorry to say.”

“I am a stranger to Mrs. Delamayn,” the lady answered.  “The servant informed me that she had gone out; and that I should find Mr. Delamayn here.”

Julius bowed—­and waited to hear more.

“I must beg you to forgive my intrusion,” the stranger went on.  “My object is to ask permission to see a lady who is, I have been informed, a guest in your house.”

The extraordinary formality of the request rather puzzled Julius.

“Do you mean Mrs. Glenarm?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Pray don’t think any permission necessary.  A friend of Mrs. Glenarm’s may take her welcome for granted in this house.”