"Well, then, whom can we possibly ask? Especially just as the season is commencing. You see, Clara, the fates fight against Sir William."
His wife rested her elbows against the back of the great red chair, and passed her fingers through the statesman's grizzled curls, stooping down as she did so until her lips were close to his ear.
"There is Lord Arthur Sibthorpe," said she softly.
Lord Charles bounded in his chair, and muttered a word or two such as were more frequently heard from Cabinet Ministers in Lord Melbourne's time than now.
"Are you mad, Clara!" he cried. "What can have put such a thought into your head?"
"The Prime Minister."
"Who? The Prime Minister?"
"Yes, dear. Now do, do be good! Or perhaps I had better not speak to you about it any more."
"Well, I really think that you have gone rather too far to retreat."
"It was the Prime Minister, then, who told me that Lord Arthur was going to Tangier."
"It is a fact, though it had escaped my memory for the instant."
