But the Guardsman had vanished. For reasons of his own he did not wish to meet Garsington. Perhaps he too had been a member of a certain club.
“Oh, there you are, Honoria,” said her brother, “I thought that I should be sure to find you somewhere in this beastly squash. Look here, I have something to tell you.”
“Good news or bad?” said Lady Honoria, playing with her fan. “If it is bad, keep it, for I am enjoying myself very much, and I don’t want my evening spoilt.”
“Trust you for that, Honoria; but look here, it’s jolly good, about as good as can be for that prig of a husband of yours. What do you think? that brat of a boy, the son of old Sir Robert Bingham and the cook or some one, you know, is——”
“Not dead, not dead?” said Honoria in deep agitation.
“Dead as ditch-water,” replied his lordship. “I heard it at the club. There was a lawyer fellow there dining with somebody there, and they got talking about Bingham, when the lawyer said, ‘Oh, he’s Sir Geoffrey Bingham now. Old Sir Robert’s heir is dead. I saw the telegram myself.’”
“Oh, this is almost too good to be true,” said Honoria. “Why, it means eight thousand a year to us.”
“I told you it was pretty good,” said her brother. “You ought to stand me a commission out of the swag. At any rate, let’s go and drink to the news. Come on, it is time for supper and I am awfully done. I must screw myself up.”
Lady Honoria took his arm. As they walked down the wide flower-hung stair they met a very great Person indeed, coming up.
“Ah, Lady Honoria,” said the great Person, “I have something to say that will please you, I think,” and he bent towards her, and spoke very low, then, with a little bow, passed on.