girl went up to bed, she asked her husband if he would be late.
"The magazines came this morning," said he. "I'd better sleep in my dressing room."
The baronet was apt to sit up late when he had anything to read that held his fancy, and the procedure of sleeping in his dressing room was commonly followed then.
He bade them good-night and went off towards the library, and a few minutes later, as they were going upstairs, they heard the library door shut.
When they came to Lady Cromarty's room, Cicely said good-night to her hostess and turned down the passage that led to her own bedroom. A door opened quietly as she passed and a voice whispered:
"Cicely!"
She stopped and regarded the young author with a reproving eye.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
"I just wanted to speak to you!" he pleaded.
"Now, Malcolm," she said severely, "you know quite well that Lady Cromarty trusts us not to do this sort of thing!"
"She's in her room, isn't she?"
"What does that matter?"
"And where's Sir Reginald?"
"Still in the library."
"Sitting up late?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter either. Good night!"
