LATER in the evening, Mr. Thomas Trotter—(so far as he knew he was still in the service of Mrs. Millidew, operating under chauffeur's license No. So-and-So, Thomas Trotter, alien)—strode briskly into a Western Union office and sent off the following cablegram, directed to Lord Fenlew, Fenlew Hall, Old-marsh, Blightwind Banks, Surrey:

"God bless you. Returning earliest possible date. Will wire soon as wedding day is set. Eric."

It was a plain, matter-of-fact Britannical way of covering the situation. He felt there was nothing more that could be said at the moment, and his interest being centred upon two absorbing subjects he touched firmly upon both of them and let it go at that.

Quite as direct and characteristic was the reply that came early the next day.

"Do nothing rash. Who and what is she? Fenlew."

This was the beginning of a sharp, incisive conversation between two English noblemen separated by three thousand miles of water.

"Loveliest girl in the world. You will be daffy over her. Take my word for it. Eric."

(While we are about it, it is just as well to set forth the brisk dialogue now and get over with it. Something like forty-eight hours actually were required to complete the transoceanic conversation. We save time and avoid confusion, to say nothing of interrupted activities, by telling it all in a breath, so to speak, disregarding everything except sequence.)

Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "I repeat, who and what is she?"

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Forgive oversight. She is daughter of late Earl of Wexham. I told you what she is."

Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "What is date of wedding? Must know at once."

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "I will ask her and let you know."

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew—(the next day): "Still undecided. Something to do with gowns."

Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Nonsense. I cannot wait."

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Gave her your message. She says you'll have to."

Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Tell her I can't. I am a very old man."

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Thanks. That brought her round. May fifteenth in this city."

Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "My blessings. Draw on me for any amount up to ten thousand pounds. Wedding present on the way."

Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Happiness complete."

An ordinary telegram signed "Eric Temple" was delivered on board one of the huge American cruisers at Hampton Roads during this exchange of cablegrams. It was directed to Lieut. Samuel Pickering Aylesworth, who promptly replied: "Heartiest congratulations. Count on me for anything. Nothing could give me greater happiness than to stand up with you on the momentous occasion. It is great to know that you are not only still in the land of the living but that you are living in the land that I love best. My warmest felicitations to the future Lady Temple."

Now, to go back to the morning on which the first cablegram was received from Lord Fenlew. At precisely ten minutes past nine o'clock we take up the thread of this narrative once more and find Thomas Trotter standing in the lower hall of Mrs. Millidew's home, awaiting the return of a parlour-maid who had gone to inform her mistress that the chauffeur was downstairs and wanted to see her when it was convenient. The chauffeur did not fail to observe the anxious, concerned look in the maid's eyes, nor the glance of sympathy she sent over her shoulder as she made the turn at the top of the stairs.

Presently she came back. She looked positively distressed.

"My goodness, Tommie," she said, "I'd hate to be you."

He smiled, quite composedly. "Think I'd better beat it?" he inquired.

"She's in an awful state," said the parlour-maid, twisting the hem of her apron.

"I don't blame her," said Trotter coolly.

"What was you up to?" asked she, with some severity.

He thought for a second or two and then puzzled her vastly by replying:

"Up to my ears."

"Pickled?"

"Permanently intoxicated," he assured her.

"Well, all I got to say is you'll be sober when she gets through with you. I've been up against it myself, and I know. I've been on the point of quittin' half a dozen times."

"A very sensible idea, Katie," said he, solemnly.

She stiffened. "I guess you don't get me. I mean quittin' my job, Mr. Fresh."

"I daresay I'll be quitting mine," said he and smiled so engagingly that Katie's rancour gave way at once to sympathy.

"You poor kid! But listen. I'll give you a tip. You needn't be out of a job ten minutes. Young Mrs. Millidew is up there with the old girl now. They've been havin' it hot and heavy for fifteen minutes. The old one called the young one up on the 'phone at seven o'clock this morning and gave her the swellest tongue-lashin' you ever heard. Said she'd been stealin' her chauffeur, and—a lot of other things I'm ashamed to tell you. Over comes the young one, hotter'n fire, and they're havin' it out upstairs. I happened to be passin' the door a little while ago and I heard young Mrs. Millidew tell the Missus that if she fired you she'd take you on in two seconds. So, if you—"

"Thanks, Katie," interrupted Trotter. "Did Mrs. Millidew say when she would see me?"

"Soon as she gets something on," said Katie.

At that moment, a door slammed violently on the floor above. There was a swift swish of skirts, and then the vivid, angry face of Mrs. Millidew, the younger, came suddenly into view. She leaned far out over the banister rail and searched the hallway below with quick, roving eyes.

"Are you there, Trotter?" she called out in a voice that trembled perceptibly.

He advanced a few paces, stopping beside the newel post. He looked straight up into her eyes.

"Yes, Mrs. Millidew."

"You begin driving for me today," she said hurriedly. "Do you understand?"

"But, madam, I am not open to—"

"Yes, you are," she interrupted. "You don't know it, but you are out of a job, Trotter."

"I am not surprised," he said.

"I don't care what you were doing last night,—that is your affair, not mine. You come to me at once at the same wages—"

"I beg your pardon," he broke in. "I mean to say I am not seeking another situation."

"If it is a question of pay, I will give you ten dollars a week more than you were receiving here. Now, don't haggle. That is sixty dollars a week. Hurry up! Decide! She will be out here in a minute. Oh, thunder!"

The same door banged open and the voice of Mrs. Millidew, the elder, preceded its owner by some seconds in the race to the front.

"You are not fired, Trotter," she squealed. Her head, considerably dishevelled, appeared alongside the gay spring bonnet that bedecked her daughter-in-law. "You ought to be fired for what you did last night, but you are not. Do you understand? Now, shut up, Dolly! It doesn't matter if I did say I was going to fire him. I've changed my mind."

"You are too late," said the younger Mrs. Millidew coolly. "I've just engaged him. He comes to me at—"

"You little snake!"

"Ladies, I beg of you—"

"The next time I let him go gallivanting off with you for a couple of days—and nights,—you'll know it," cried the elder Mrs. Millidew, furiously. "I can see what you've been up to. You've been doing everything in your power to get him away from me—"

"Just what do you mean to insinuate, Mother Millidew?" demanded the other, her voice rising.

"My God!" cried Trotter's employer, straightening her figure and facing the other. Something like horror sounded in her cracked old voice. "Could—my God!—could it be possible?"

"Speak plainly! What do you mean?"

Mrs. Millidew, the elder, advanced her mottled face until it was but a few inches from that of her daughter-in-law.

"Where were you last night?" she demanded harshly.

There was a moment of utter silence. Trotter, down below, caught his breath.

Then, to his amazement, Mrs. Millidew the younger, instead of flying into a rage, laughed softly, musically.

"Oh, you are too rich for words," she gurgled. "I wish,—heavens, how I wish you could see what a fool you look. Go back, quick, and look in the mirror before it wears off. You'll have the heartiest laugh you've had in years."

She leaned against the railing and continued to laugh. Not a sound from Mrs. Millidew, the elder.

"Do come up a few steps, Trotter," went on the younger gaily,—"and have a peep. You will—"

The other found her voice. There was now an agitated note, as of alarm, in it.

"Don't you dare come up those steps, Trotter;—I forbid you, do you hear!"

Trotter replied with considerable dignity. He had been shocked by the scene.

"I have no intention of moving in any direction except toward the front door," he said.

"Don't go away," called out his employer. "You are not dismissed."

"I came to explain my unavoidable absence last—"

"Some other time,—some other time. I want the car at half-past ten."

Young Mrs. Millidew was descending the stairs. Her smiling eyes were upon the distressed young man at the bottom. There was no response in his.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Millidew," he said, raising his voice slightly. "I came not only to explain, but to notify you that I am giving up my place almost immediately."

"What!" squeaked the old lady, coming to the top of the steps.

"It is imperative. I shall, of course, stay on for a day or two while you are finding—"

"Do you mean to say you are quitting of your own accord?" she gasped.

"Yes, madam."

"Don't call me 'madam'! I've told you that before. So—so, you are going to work for her in spite of me, are you? It's all been arranged, has it? You two have—"

"He is coming to me today," said young Mrs. Millidew sweetly. "Aren't you, Trotter?"

"No, I am not!" he exploded.

She stopped short on the stairs, and gave him a startled, incredulous look. Any one else but Trotter would have been struck by her loveliness.

"You're not?" cried Mrs. Millidew from the top step. It was almost a cry of relief. "Do you mean that?"

"Absolutely."

His employer fumbled for a pocket lost among the folds of her dressing-gown.

"Well, you can't resign, my man. Don't think for a minute you can resign," she cried out shrilly.

He thought she was looking for a handkerchief.

"But I insist, Mrs. Millidew, that I—"

"You can't resign for the simple reason that you're already fired," she sputtered. "I never allow any one to give me notice, young man. No one ever left me without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where the dev—Oh, here it is!" She not only had found the pocket but the crisp slip of paper that it contained. "Here is a check for your week's wages. It isn't up till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never want to see your ugly face again."

She crumpled the bit of paper in her hand and threw the ball in his direction. Its flight ended half-way down the steps.

"Come and get it, if you want it," she said.

"Good day, madam," he said crisply, and turned on his heel.

"How many times must I tell you not to call me—Come back here, Dolly! I want to see you."

But her tall, perplexed daughter-in-law passed out through the door, followed by the erect and lordly Mr. Trotter.

"Good-bye, Tommie," whispered Katie, as he donned his grey fedora.

"Good-bye, Katie," he said, smiling, and held out his hand to her. "You heard what she said. If you should ever think of resigning, I'd suggest you do it in writing and from a long way off." He looked behind the vestibule door and recovered a smart little walking-stick. "Something to lean upon in my misfortune," he explained to Katie.

Young Mrs. Millidew was standing at the top of the steps, evidently waiting for him. Her brow wrinkled as she took him in from head to foot. He was wearing spats. His two-button serge coat looked as though it had been made for him,—and his correctly pressed trousers as well. He stood for a moment, his head erect, his heels a little apart, his stick under his arm, while he drew on,—with no inconsiderable effect—a pair of light tan gloves. And the smile with which he favoured her was certainly not that of a punctilious menial. On the contrary, it was the rather bland, casual smile of one who is very well satisfied with his position.

In a cheery, off-hand manner he inquired if she was by any chance going in his direction.

The metamorphosis was complete. The instant he stepped outside of Mrs. Millidew's door, the mask was cast aside. He stood now before the world,—and before the puzzled young widow in particular,—as a thoroughbred, cocksure English gentleman. In a moment his whole being seemed to have undergone a change. He carried himself differently; his voice and the manner in which he used it struck her at once as remarkably altered; more than anything else, was she impressed by the calm assurance of his inquiry.

She was nonplussed. For a moment she hesitated between resentment and the swift-growing conviction that he was an equal.

For the first time within the range of her memory, she felt herself completely rattled and uncertain of herself. She blushed like a fool,—as she afterwards confessed,—and stammered confusedly:

"I—yes—that is, I am going home."

"Come along, then," he said coolly, and she actually gasped.

To her own amazement, she took her place beside him and descended the steps, her cheeks crimson. At the bottom, she cast a wild, anxious look up and down the street, and then over her shoulder at the second-story windows of the house they had just left.

Queer little shivers were running all over her. She couldn't account for them,—any more than she could account for the astonishing performance to which she was now committed: that of walking jauntily through a fashionable cross-town street in the friendliest, most intimate manner with her mother-in-law's discharged chauffeur! Fifth Avenue but a few steps away, with all its mid-morning activities to be encountered! What on earth possessed her! "Come along, then," he had said with all the calmness of an old and privileged acquaintance! And obediently she had "come along"!

His chin was up, his eyes were sparkling; his body was bent forward slightly at the waist to co-ordinate with the somewhat pronounced action of his legs; his hat was slightly tilted and placed well back on his head; his gay little walking-stick described graceful revolutions.

She was suddenly aware of a new thrill—one of satisfaction. As she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her face cleared. Instinctively she grasped the truth. Whatever he may have been yesterday, he was quite another person today,—and it was a pleasure to be seen with him!

She lengthened her stride, and held up her head. Her red lips parted in a dazzling smile.

"I suppose it is useless to ask you to change your mind,—Trotter," she said, purposely hesitating over the name.

"Quite," said he, smiling into her eyes.

She was momentarily disconcerted. She found it more difficult than she had thought to look into his eyes.

"Why do you call yourself Trotter?" she asked, after a moment.

"I haven't the remotest idea," he said. "It came to me quite unexpectedly."

"It isn't a pretty name," she observed. "Couldn't you have done better?"

"I daresay I might have called myself Marjoribanks with perfect propriety," said he. "Or Plantagenet, or Cholmondeley. But it would have been quite a waste of time, don't you think?"

"Would you mind telling me who you really are?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Oh, yes, I would. I could believe anything of you."

"Well, I am the Prince of Wales."

She flushed. "I believe you," she said. "Forgive my impertinence, Prince."

"Forgive mine, Mrs. Millidew," he said soberly. "My name is Temple, Eric Temple. That does not convey anything to you, of course."

"It conveys something vastly more interesting than Trotter,—Thomas Trotter."

"And yet I am morally certain that Trotter had a great deal more to him than Eric Temple ever had," said he. "Trotter was a rather good sort, if I do say it myself. He was a hard-working, honest, intelligent fellow who found the world a very jolly old thing. I shall miss Trotter terribly, Mrs. Millidew. He used to read me to sleep nearly every night, and if I got a headache or a pain anywhere he did my complaining for me. He was with me night and day for three years and more, and that, let me tell you, is the severest test. I've known him to curse me roundly, to call me nearly everything under the sun,—and yet I let him go on doing it without a word in self-defence. Once he saved my life in an Indian jungle,—he was a remarkably good shot, you see. And again he pulled me through a pretty stiff illness in Tokio. I don't know how I should have got on without Trotter."

"You are really quite delicious, Mr. Eric Temple. By the way, did you allow the admirable Trotter to direct your affairs of the heart?"

"I did," said he promptly.

"That is rather disappointing," said she, shaking her head. "Trotter may not have played the game fairly, you know. With all the best intentions in the world, he may have taken advantage of your—shall I say indifference?"

"You may take my word for it, Mrs. Millidew, good old Trotter went to a great deal of pains to arrange a very suitable match for me," said he airily. "He was a most discriminating chap."

"How interesting," said she, stiffening slightly. "Am I permitted to inquire just what opportunities Thomas Trotter has had to select a suitable companion for the rather exotic Mr. Temple?"

"Fortunately," said he, "the rather exotic Mr. Temple approves entirely of the choice made by Thomas Trotter."

"I wouldn't trust a chauffeur too far, if I were you," said she, a little maliciously.

"Just how far would you trust one?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows.

She smiled. "Well,—the length of Long Island," she said, with the utmost composure.

"Mr. Trotter's late employer would not, it appears, share your faith in the rascal," said he.

"She is a rather evil-minded old party," said Mrs. Millidew, the younger, bowing to the occupants of an automobile which was moving slowly in the same direction down the Avenue.

A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward to peer at the widow's companion, who raised his hat,—but not in greeting. The man who slumped down in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.

The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,—a trifle haggard about the eyes,—and her son Stuyvesant.

Young Mrs. Millidew laughed. "Evidently they recognize you, Mr. Temple, in spite of your spats and stick."

"I thought I was completely disguised," said he, twirling his stick.

"Good-bye," said she, at the corner. She held out her hand. "It is very nice to have known you, Mr. Eric Temple. Our mutual acquaintance, the impeccable Trotter, has my address if you should care to avail yourself of it. After the end of June, I shall be on Long Island."

"It is very good of you, Mrs. Millidew," he said, clasping her hand. His hat was off. The warm spring sun gleamed in his curly brown hair. "I hope to be in England before the end of June." He hesitated a moment, and then said: "Lady Temple and I will be happy to welcome you at Fenlew Hall when you next visit England. Good-bye."

She watched him stride off down the Avenue. She was still looking after him with slightly disturbed eyes when the butler opened the door.

"Any fool should have known," she said, to herself and not to the servant. A queer little light danced in her eyes. "As a matter of fact, I suppose I did know without realizing it. Is Mrs. Hemleigh at home, Brooks?"

"She is expecting you, Mrs. Millidew."

"By the way, Brooks, do you happen to know anything about Fenlew Hall?"

Brooks was as good a liar as any one. He had come, highly recommended, from a Fifth Avenue intelligence office. He did not hesitate an instant.

"The Duke of Aberdeen's county seat, ma'am? I know it quite well. I cawn't tell you 'ow many times I've been in the plice, ma'am, while I was valeting his Grice, the Duke of Manchester."