III. — THE COMING GUEST

The Foreign Secretary scented comedy. He had a deal of humour for a mere Minister, a blessed gift that rendered even the House of Commons entertaining. There seemed to be all the elements of high comedy here. The shade of Sheridan would have revelled in it.

Out in the hall, under the very shadow of the decorous clock, the clear, rich whistling went on. Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram turned a cold, critical eye on Cedric as if he was responsible for the outrage. The butler shook his head with the air of a man who finds a chastened resignation in the decrees of Providence.

"Go and see what it means," Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram commanded."If it is one of the footmen—but that is impossible."

Cedric felt his way from the room like a Chesterfield walking in his sleep. Almost immediately the whistling ceased. There were the notes of a strange voice, a very pleasant voice, and clear laughter.

"Charles," Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram whispered,"can it possibly be——"

"I am afraid," Merrion responded with proper gravity,"that it is."

The door opened as if some strange energy were behind it, and a girl entered.

She was rather short, with a beautiful figure; her pretty face was full of vivacity. The restless grey eyes suggested mischief, whilst at the same time there was something demure, almost saintly, in her expression. It was a face of contrasts, and all the more fascinating for that. The slight figure in the close-fitting coat and skirt of grey advanced smilingly and with the most perfect self-possession. The light from the candles gleamed on her shining chestnut hair, dark or burnished, just as the shadows fell.

"My dear aunt," she cried,"I am so glad to see you."

She threw her arms about Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram's neck and kissed her heartily, to the speechless admiration of the twins.

"Of course, I am Kathleen," the newcomer went on."I got here a quarter of an hour ago. I would not let them disturb you as I managed to get a dinner of sorts at Castlef