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Young Tom was there already waiting for him when he came in. The boy was quite at home, seated, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his thin nose stuck in the Evening Standard.

He jumped up at the sight of his uncle and stood there smiling, and Beaminster also smiled, thinking what a nice boy he was, the straightest and cleanest and handsomest in all London.

Fullerton came in to draw the dark purple curtains, the tea was placed at their side, they drew close to the happy fire.

"And now, Tom, what's your news?"

"Why, Miss Grandison, the older one, is engaged to Lord Poole!"

Here was a piece of news! Beaminster, who had been leaning towards the fire, sat up with a jerk. His round pink face seemed to swell with astonishment.

"To Poole! But——" then checking himself because the boy was too young for current scandal. "When did you hear this? Is it sure?"

"Quite certain. It was three nights ago at Lady Mossop's."

"Why, then, he——But what will she——The old Duke will be pleased. Just what he would like. But I never dreamt that Poole——"