“Miss Bourne.”—­began Longford then.

“Miss Bourne and Mr. Gigg have also left,” said Primmins.

“I suppose Miss Vancourt went with them?”

“No, sir.”

This was baffling.

“Lady Wicketts is staying here, I believe,”—­murmured Roxmouth—­“Can I—­er?”

“Her ladyship has the neuralgy and is lying down, my lord,” and an acute observer might have noticed the tremor of a wink in Primmins’ eye—­“Miss Fosby is in the drawing-room.”

With a profound sigh Roxmouth glanced at Longford.  That gentleman smiled a superior smile.

“We should like to see Miss Fosby.”

Primmins at once threw open the door more widely.

“This way, if you please!”

In another moment they were ushered into the presence of Miss Fosby, who, laying aside her embroidery, rose with punctilious ceremony to receive them.

“Lady Wicketts is not well,”—­she said, in tenderly lachrymose accents—­“Dear Lady Wicketts!  She is always so good!—­always thinking of other people and doing such kind things!—­she fatigues herself, and she is so delicate—­ah!—­so very delicate!  She is suffering from neuralgia, I am sorry to say!”

“Don’t mention it,”—­said Roxmouth, hastily—­“We would not disturb her for the world!  The fact is, we called to see Miss Vancourt—–­”

“Yes?” queried Miss Fosby, gently, taking up her embroidery again, and carefully setting her needle into the petal of a rosebud she was designing—­“Dear girl!  She left here yesterday.”

“Rather sudden, wasn’t it?” said Longford.

Miss Fosby looked up placidly, and smiled.  She had a touch of humour about her as well as much ‘early Victorian’ sentiment, and she was just now enjoying herself.

“I think not!  Young women like change and travel.  Maryllia has always been accustomed to go abroad in August.  The first time Lady Wicketts and I ever met her, she was travelling with her aunt.  Oh no, I don’t think it is at all sudden!”

“Where has she gone?” asked Roxmouth, affecting as much ease and lightness of manner as he could in putting the question.

Miss Fosby smiled a little more.

“I really don’t know,”—­she replied, with civil mildness—­“I fancy she has no settled plans at all.  She has kindly allowed Lady Wicketts and myself the use of the Manor for three weeks.”

“Till she returns?” suggested Longford.

This time Miss Fosby laughed.

“Oh no!  When we leave it, the Manor is to be shut up again for quite a long time—­probably till next summer.”

“Miss Bourne has gone with her friend, I suppose?” “No,”—­and Miss Fosby sought carefully among her embroidery silks for some special tint of colour—­“Little Cicely and Monsieur Gigue, her master, went away together only this morning.”

“Well, I suppose Miss Vancourt’s letters will he forwarded on somewhere!”—­said Eoxmouth, unguardedly.  Miss Fosby’s back stiffened instantly.