"No one—except Mr. Stanley."
"You must excuse me, Mr. Lambert," she said. "I'm not feeling very well."
"You are faint? Is there nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing more, thank you," and she swept past him across the room, to where Lady Isabelle was seated on a sofa.
"Nothing more," murmured the little man, after she had left him; "but I hadn't begun to do anything; and she seemed quite faint. Dear, dear, she looks strong, but to be so easily upset, I fear something must be wrong—my daughter was never like that," and, shaking his head, he went to join the Dowager, who had a penchant for the clergy.
"You've heard nothing from your husband?" asked Miss Fitzgerald of Lady Isabelle, as she seated herself beside her.
"Nothing beyond a telegram telling me of his safe arrival in London."
"But surely his uncle was in extremis. He cannot live long."
"I do not know," she replied, "but it's very awkward. Oh, why won't you let me tell Mr. Stanley the truth?"
"Sh! He's coming," murmured Miss Fitzgerald, and, indeed, the Secretary was advancing deliberately towards them; a thing suggestive in itself, considering how he had striven to avoid them all day long.