"I am rather tired, mother; I may look in at the opera, but I can't face
a ball. How is Anne, and what is she doing to-night?" he said.

"Anne has a bad cold. We have had such weather--nothing but rain since
Sunday night! She is dining at home and going to bed early. I have just
had a telephone message from her; she is longing to see you, too."

"I think I shall go round and dine with her then," said Hector, "and
join you later."

They talked on for about ten minutes before he left her to dress,
running against Streatfield in the passage. She had known him since his
birth, and beamed with joy at his return.

He chaffed her about growing fat, and went on his way to telephone to
his sister.

"His lordship looks pale, my lady," said the demure woman, as she
fastened Lady Bracondale's bracelet. She, too, disapproved of Paris and
bachelorhood, but she did not love Morella Winmarleigh.

"Oh, you think so, Streatfield?" Lady Bracondale exclaimed, in a worried
voice. "Now that we have got him back we must take great care of him.
His lordship will join me at the opera. Are you sure he likes those
aigrettes in my hair?"

"Why, it's one of his lordship's favorite styles, my lady. You need have
no fears," said the maid.