"Why, five cases of stereopticon slides for Mr. Riddle. I helped the carrier to reload them, and very heavy they were."
"He said nothing to me of it," she replied; "but he certainly is going to stop in London one night."
"I wish I'd known, I'd have asked him to cash a cheque for me. It's so hard to do that sort of thing in the country, and I imagine we bank at the same place."
"He banks at the Victoria Street branch of the Bank of England. I'm sure he would have been glad to have done it for you."
"Thanks, but it really doesn't matter," replied Stanley, who, having thus learned the probable destination of Mr. Riddle's chests of sovereigns was contented to change the subject, saying: "I do hope that the Lieutenant unburdened his soul to your mother before he left."
She then told him all the events of the afternoon, even the interview with her mother, the whole in a conversational tone of voice. The Secretary sat dazed as the magnitude of what he had let himself in for dawned upon him; and her Ladyship's eager explanations and apologies, which presently died down to a whisper, as there came a lull in the conversation, fell unheeded on his ears. Suddenly he became intuitively aware that everyone was looking at him—no, at them. His hostess was making a feeble attempt to smile at him from far down the table—he felt a horrible premonition of coming catastrophe; he looked at Lady Isabelle, she was white to the lips.
"My friends," came Mrs. Roberts' voice, trembling a little, "Lady Port Arthur has just told me some interesting news, with the request that I would transmit it to you all; so I am going to ask you to drink your first glass of champagne this evening in honour of the engagement of Lady Isabelle McLane and Mr. Aloysius Stanley."