At the moment of Lord Marshmoreton's arrival, George was reading aletter from Billie Dore, which had come by that morning's post. Itdealt mainly with the vicissitudes experienced by Miss Dore'sfriend, Miss Sinclair, in her relations with the man Spenser Gray.

　　Spenser Gray, it seemed, had been behaving oddly. Ardent towardsMiss Sinclair almost to an embarrassing point in the early stages oftheir acquaintance, he had suddenly cooled; at a recent lunch hadbehaved with a strange aloofness; and now, at this writing, hadvanished altogether, leaving nothing behind him but an abrupt noteto the effect that he had been compelled to go abroad and that,much as it was to be regretted, he and she would probably nevermeet again.

　　"And if," wrote Miss Dore, justifiably annoyed, "after saying allthose things to the poor kid and telling her she was the only thingin sight, he thinks he can just slide off with a 'Good-bye! Goodluck! and God bless you!' he's got another guess coming. Andthat's not all. He hasn't gone abroad! I saw him in Piccadilly thisafternoon. He saw me, too, and what do you think he did? Duckeddown a side-street, if you please. He must have run like a rabbit,at that, because, when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. Itell you, George, there's something funny about all this."Having been made once or twice before the confidant of thetempestuous romances of Billie's friends, which always seemed to gowrong somewhere in the middle and to die a natural death beforearriving at any definite point, George was not particularlyinterested, except in so far as the letter afforded rathercomforting evidence that he was not the only person in the world whowas having trouble of the kind. He skimmed through the rest of it,and had just finished when there was a sharp rap at the front door.

　　"Come in!" called George.

　　There entered a sturdy little man of middle age whom at first sightGeorge could not place. And yet he had the impression that he hadseen him before. Then he recognized him as the gardener to whom hehad given the note for Maud that day at the castle. The alterationin the man's costume was what had momentarily baffled George. Whenthey had met in the rose-garden, the other had been arrayed inuntidy gardening clothes. Now, presumably in his Sunday suit, itwas amusing to observe how almost dapper he had become. Really, youmight have passed him in the lane and taken him for someneighbouring squire.

　　George's heart raced. Your lover is ever optimistic, and he couldconceive of no errand that could have brought this man to hiscottage unless he was charged with the delivery of a note fromMaud. He spared a moment from his happiness to congratulate himselfon having picked such an admirable go-between. Here evidently, wasone of those trusty old retainers you read about, faithful,willing, discreet, ready to do anything for "the little missy"(bless her heart!). Probably he had danced Maud on his knee in herinfancy, and with a dog-like affection had watched her at herchildish sports. George beamed at the honest fellow, and felt inhis pocket to make sure that a suitable tip lay safely therein.