“The lady, sir—­a real lady, I should think—­’ave brought it in her own bruffam, and was most particular, sir, as you should ’ave it at once.”

Mr. Faulks took the letter and examined it carefully.

“From that charming woman, Mrs. Wilders, my cousin, or rather Stanny’s cousin; but his relations are mine.  I am his uncle; some day, if he lives, I shall be uncle to an earl.  They will treat me better perhaps when I have all the Essendine interest at my back.  Whippersnappers like this Fothergill will scarcely dare to snub me then.  A good lad Stanislas; I always liked him.  I wish he was back amongst us, and not at that horrid war.”

“The lady, sir, is most anxious, sir, to have a answer,” put in the messenger, recalling Mr. Faulks’s attention to the letter.

“Ah! to be sure.  One moment,” and he read the note:—­

“Cannot I see you?” it said.  “I am oppressed with fears for
our dear Stanislas.  Do please spare me a few minutes of your
valuable time.

“CYPRIENNE W.”

“I will go down to her at once, say.”  And, seizing his hat, Mr. Faulks followed the messenger into the street, where he found Mrs. Wilders in her tiny brougham, at the door of the office.

“Oh, how good of you!” she said, putting out a little hand in a perfectly-fitting grey glove.  “I would not disturb you for worlds, but I was so anxious.”

“What has happened?  Nothing serious, I trust?”

“I do not know.  I cannot say.  I am terribly upset.”

“Do tell me all about it.”

“Of course; that is why I came.  But it will take some time.  Will you get into the carriage?  Are you going anywhere?  I can take you, and tell you upon the road.”

“I am afraid I cannot leave just at present.”  He had misgivings as to his arbitrary young chief.  “But if I might suggest, and if you will honour me so far, will you not come upstairs to my room?”

“Oh! willingly, if you will allow me.”

This was all that she wished.  Very soon, escorted by her obsequious friend, she found herself in his arm-chair, pouring forth a long and intricate, not to say incomprehensible, story about Stanislas McKay.  She had heard, she said—­it was not necessary to say how—­that they meant to send him on some secret expedition, full of danger, she understood, and she thought it such a pity—­so wrong, so unfair!

“He ought really to return to England and take up his proper position,” she went on.  “Lord Essendine wishes it, and so, I am sure, must you.”

“No one will be more pleased to welcome him back than myself,” said Mr. Faulks.  “I should be glad indeed of his countenance and support just now.  They do not treat me too well here.”

“Can it be possible!” she exclaimed, in a voice of tenderest interest.  “You whom I have always thought one of the most useful, estimable men in the public service.”

“Things are not what they were, my dear lady; they do not appreciate me here.  They deny me the smallest, the most trifling recognition.  Would you believe it that, after five-and-thirty years of uninterrupted service, they still hesitate to give me a decoration?  I ought to have had the Companionship of the Bath at the last change of Ministry.”