One was whipped deftly on to his plate, and as he took up his knife and fork to carve it, a great scuffling sounded without, angry voices being raised in expostulation, and, above all, a breathless, insistent appeal for Mr. Carr or Sir Miles. My lord laid down the knife and fork and came to his feet.
“It appears I am demanded,” he said, and went to the door. It was opened for him at once, and he stepped out into the hall to find Mr. Beauleigh trying to dodge the younger footman, who was refusing to let him pass. At the sight of Carstares he stepped back respectfully. Mr. Beauleigh, hot, distraught, breathless, fell upon my lord.
“Thank God you are here, sir!” he cried.
Carstares observed him with some surprise. Mr. Beauleigh had been so very frigid when last they had met.
“I am glad to be at your service, sir,” he bowed. “You have commands for me?”
“We are in terrible trouble,” almost moaned the other. “Betty bade me come to find you, or failing you, Sir Miles, for none other can help us!”
Carstares’ glance grew sharper.
“Trouble? Not——— But I forget my manners—we shall talk more at ease in here.” He led Mr. Beauleigh into the morning-room. Beauleigh thrust a paper into his hands.
“Diana went riding this afternoon, and only her horse returned—with this attached to the pommel! Read it, sir! Read it!”
“Diana!” Carstares strode over to the light, and devoured the contents of the single sheet, with eager eyes.
They were not long, and they were very much to the point:
“Mr. Beauleigh may haply recall to mind a certain ‘Mr. Everard,’ of Bath, whose Addresses to Miss Beauleigh were cruelly repulsed. He regrets having now to take the Matter into his Own Hands, and trusts to further his Acquaintance with Mr. Beauleigh at some Future Date, when Miss Beauleigh shall, He trusts, have become ‘Mrs. Everard.’”
