He turned to Natalie, listening to him in amazement, and explained himself.  It had struck him that he might appeal—­with his purse in his hand, of course—­to the interest felt in his affairs by the late stewardess of the yacht.  That excellent woman had volunteered to do all that she could to help him.  Her husband had obtained situations for his wife and himself on board another yacht—­and they were both eager to assist in any conspiracy in which their late merciless master was destined to play the part of victim.  When on shore, they lived in a populous London parish, far away from the fashionable district of Berkeley Square, and further yet from the respectable suburb of Muswell Hill.  A room in the house could be nominally engaged for Natalie, in the assumed character of the stewardess’s niece—­the stewardess undertaking to answer any purely formal questions which might be put by the church authorities, and to be present at the marriage ceremony.  As for Launce, he would actually, as well as nominally, live in the district close by; and the steward, if needful, would answer for him.  Natalie might call at her parochial residence occasionally, under the wing of Lady Winwood; gaining leave of absence from Muswell Hill, on the plea of paying one of her customary visits at her aunt’s house.  The conspiracy, in brief, was arranged in all its details.  Nothing was now wanting but the consent of the young lady; obtaining which, Launce would go to the parish church and give the necessary notice of a marriage by banns on the next day.  There was the plot.  What did the ladies think of it?

Lady Winwood thought it perfect.

Natalie was not so easily satisfied.

“My father has always been so kind to me!” she said.  “The one thing I can’t get over, Launce, is distressing papa.  If he had been hard on me—­as some fathers are—­I shouldn’t mind.”  She suddenly brightened, as if she saw her position in a new light.  “Why should you hurry me?” she asked.  “I am going to dine at my aunt’s to-day, and you are coming in the evening.  Give me time!  Wait till to-night.”

Launce instantly entered his protest against wasting a moment longer.  Lady Winwood opened her lips to support him.  They were both silenced at the same moment by the appearance of one of Mrs. Sancroft’s servants, opening the gate of the square.

Lady Winwood went forward to meet the man.  A suspicion crossed her mind that he might be bringing bad news.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon, my lady—­the housekeeper said you were walking here with Miss Graybrooke.  A telegram for Miss Graybrooke.”

Lady Winwood took the telegram from the man’s hand; dismissed him, and went back with it to Natalie.  Natalie opened it nervously.  She read the message—­and instantly changed.  Her cheeks flushed deep; her eyes flashed with indignation.  “Even papa can be hard on me, it seems, when Richard asks him!” she exclaimed.  She handed the telegram to Launce.  Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “You love me,” she said, gently—­and stopped.  “Marry me!” she added, with a sudden burst of resolution.  “I’ll risk it!”