has always felt that—well, you know what one means. One has felt sometimes that your father. . . ."
Sarah agreed. For more years than she cared to remember she. . . .
"Quite so," Aunt Charlotte took another biscuit. "And everybody must know. . . . However, the time has now come to make an end."
"I am sure it has," said Sarah.
"Still we are playing it up very high," said the great tactician. "And we shall do well to remember. . . ."
"I agree," said Sarah cryptically.
Misgiving they might have, but just now the uppermost feeling was pride in their work and a secret satisfaction. There could be no doubt that the blow had gone home. At last they had taken the measure of his Grace, they had found his limit, the point had been reached beyond which he would not go.
"Au fond a coward," Aunt Charlotte affirmed once more, for the benefit of the coal-scuttle. And then for the benefit of Sarah, with a ring of triumph, "Always sets too high a value on public opinion, my dear."
Such being the case the conspirators had every right to congratulate themselves. And as if to confirm their victory, there came presently by telephone a most urgent message from Mount Street. Charlotte was to go round at once.
"There, what did I tell you!" said that lady. And she sublimely ordered her chariot.
IV
Enroute to Bridport House, the redoutable Charlotte did not allow herself to question that the foe was at the
