"From whom, Milroy?"
"From Mr. Richard, my lady."
"Mr. Richard? Where is he?"
"He has telephoned from Shotley Post-Office, my lady," replied Milroy, keenly appreciating the mild sensation he was about to create; "to say that he has arrived by the four-fifteen and is walking up."
"Walking--on a night like this?" cried Lady Adela, all the mother in her awake at once. "Tell him to wait, and I will send the motor."
"Mr. Richard said he preferred walking, my lady," rejoined Milroy, growing more wooden as he approached the clou of his narrative. "He said he would explain when he arrived. But the luggage-cart was to go down."
"For one portmanteau?"
"For the young lady's trunks, my lady."
"Young lady?" Lady Adela turned a puzzled countenance to her companion. "Constance, dear, was not your luggage sent up with you?"
"Yes," replied Connie, scenting fun; "it was. I fancy this must be some other lady."