is attributed to this probably harmless Mr. Ziegler.”
“And his Grace—does he also attribute these things to the same quarter?” asked Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, scarcely with the breathless interest due to such tremendous doings. She had a way of opening her eyes wide when putting a question—a mannerism which had the effect of creating doubt whether she was intensely eager or only bored.
“He thinks it all nonsense—same as I do,” Sybil made answer. “He has told these over-clever gentlemen to leave the thing alone, and I expect if he finds out what the General is up to that he’ll turn them both out of the house and give Mr. Forsyth his dismissal. Of course, you won’t say anything—will you?—because I’m only a poor relation, and I can’t afford to offend people.”
“I am discretion itself. What is General Sadgrove up to, dear?” was the reply.
Sybil’s pretty mouth bent close to confide the startling fact that the General was going to London in the morning with the intention of bearding Mr. Ziegler in his den—otherwise, in his rooms at the Cecil. If he should be refused permission to see Ziegler, or, seeing
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