"The Bishop has had a long innings," said an old general to Sir Wilfrid Bury. "And here is Mademoiselle Julie coming for you."
Sir Wilfrid rose, in obedience to a smiling sign from the lady thus described, and followed her floating black draperies towards the farther room.
"Who are those two persons with Lady Henry?" he asked of his guide, as they approached the penetralia where reigned the mistress of the house. "Ah, I see!--one is Dr. Meredith--but the other?"
"The other is Captain Warkworth," said Mademoiselle Le Breton. "Do you know him?"
"Warkworth--Warkworth? Ah--of course--the man who distinguished himself in the Mahsud expedition. But why is he home again so soon?"
Mademoiselle Le Breton smiled uncertainly.
"I think he was invalided home," she said, with that manner, at once restrained and gracious, that Sir Wilfrid had already observed in her. It was the manner of some one who counted; and--through all outward modesty--knew it.
"He wants something out of the ministry. I remember the man," was Sir Wilfrid's unspoken comment.
But they had entered the inner room. Lady Henry looked round. Over her wrinkled face, now parchment-white, there shone a ray of pleasure--sudden, vehement, and unfeigned.
"Sir Wilfrid!"