nerves and heart. It might be the death of him." And with a brusque nod he took himself off, leaving Jacynth more than ever perplexed by the duty that devolved on him.
What could he say to Fenella that would neither frighten nor repel? If he told her that Ronny was ill, she would be frantic with alarm. If he said that Lord Francis needed her, she might shrink away with wounded pride. He thought of the way in which she had spoken to him of her husband, and decided that he could not hope to conjure by his name. As he had said to the doctor, she would come if he told her that Lord Francis were ill; but if he summoned her on that account, how explain her appearance to Onslow himself? Every way seemed to be surrounded by difficulties. At last, in desperation, he wrote and dispatched the following telegram:
Ronny knocked up by traveling; Lord Francis also unwell; can you come to us in order to save delay?
"The mother's heart in her," said Jacynth to himself, "will supply all that is ambiguous in this message, and we shall have her with us to-morrow."
He felt so much more at ease when the message was sent off, that he turned into the smoking room to glance at the papers and smoke a cigar before going back to Onslow. Ronny was under the care of a nurse, and Onslow was probably resting; he had no special responsibility with
