"Lord Westfaling is still away, and can't have had your despatch yet; so if Berend can get round Lady Anstiss," said Sir Frederic Rawnsley, with oracular significance, a little later, "the thing might be worked somehow."
'YOU ARE INTERESTED IN DIPLOMACY, LADY ANSTISS. MAY I PRESENT TO YOU OUR LATEST ARRIVAL?' SAID THE AMERICAN MINISTER.
The American Minister shook his head.
"If!" he repeated. "There is a very wide margin for probability, I am afraid."
"I don't know," replied Sir Frederic. "Women move the levers nowadays, though men make 'em. Westfaling gives in to her in everything. If she so insisted on his retiring from political life to-morrow, he would do it."
Nevertheless, and in spite also of the fact that Lady Anstiss was dancing for the second time that night with Mr. Berend, the Minister still felt as hopeless at the conclusion of the Diplomatic Ball as he had at its commencement.
The day following the ball happened to be the occasion of a weekly reception at Lord Westfaling's, where the part of hostess was played by his only daughter, Lady Anstiss Carlyon. She was at home from four to seven, and it was as the clock struck the former hour that her first visitor was announced—Mr. Julius Berend.
She had parted from him the night before still undecided as to the precise nature and extent of his offence, and the precise measure of punishment. His presumption appeared to be involuntary, as in the case of his calling so early—a privilege he ought to have hesitated to take.