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      THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERE

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      CHAPTER II.

      THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERE.

      Lord Stranleigh was not house-cleaning exactly, but rather furbishing up a bit, for he expected a distinguished visitor. The rapprochement between Russia and Britain was to be helped forward another notch by the entertainment of His Highness Prince Azov. A great banquet at the Guildhall had been arranged, presided over by the Lord Mayor, and attended by members of the Cabinet, Ambassadors, Ministers, representatives of science, art, and literature, with a generous sprinkling of English nobility; indeed, one or two scions of the Royal Family would occupy seats of honour at the Guildhall table. The Prince was to be presented with the Freedom of the City in a gold box, and during the first week of his stay in London some important and dignified function was allotted to every day.

      Throughout this week the Prince was to be the ​guest of the Russian Embassy; after that he came to Lord Stranleigh, removed the decorations of his rank, and then the pair, who were old friends, intended to have a good time together like any other young men about town.

      Stranleigh was giving final instructions regarding the preparation of the suite of rooms for Prince Azov's occupation when the usually imperturbable Ponderby came in, betraying a state of agitation which filled his master with astonishment. Ponderby's stout figure seemed to have shrunk. His erstwhile rubicund countenance was actually pale, and his face wore a crestfallen expression almost akin to terror that was not without its touch of comicality. Indeed, Stranleigh almost smiled, and, in fact, would have smiled, had the victim been a man of less consequence than his indispensable valet. But instead of smiling, he spoke very calmly.

      "Well, Ponderby, what's the trouble?"

      "It's the Suffragettes, my lord. They demand to see your lordship, and won't believe you're not at home. There's about twenty of them, my lord."

      "A mere mistake in identity, Ponderby. Tell them the address of the Premier is No. 10, Downing Street. Turn them away firmly, but kindly."

      ​"They won't be turned away, my lord. The moment the footman opened the door, they rushed him; nearly knocked Spilkins over, my lord, and now they're all in the hall, except one, who stands outside the door, waving a banner inscribed 'Votes for Women.'"

      This time Stranleigh did smile, in spite of himself, as he pictured the six-foot Spilkins, so cold and formal in manner, unexpectedly submerged at the door by an impetuous onrush.

      "Ponderby, when you are captured, the only thing to do is to capitulate as gracefully as possible. Go to the hall, Ponderby, take a glance over the assembled women, and note the general tone of their costumes, then show them into whatever room best corresponds in colour and decoration with their own attire. Tell them I shall do my sell the honour of waiting upon them within five minutes. Ask Spilkins to lure away the bannered young lady from outside the door, then, when you have them all seated comfortably, report progress to me."

      The score of ladies were in quite a flutter when they learned how easily victory had come to them, and there arose a murmur of admiration as the solemn Ponderby ushered them into one of the ​most beautiful drawing-rooms they had ever seen. The girl with the banner rolled it up hastily, as if somehow it was out of keeping in a salon displaying such perfect taste. When all were seated, the silent Ponderby withdrew, closing the door very gently behind him.

      "I wonder," said the lady with the banner, "if we are trapped. This all seems too easy. I believe Lord Stranleigh has got us in here so that he can slip out unseen, for his motor-car drove up just as I came in. I should have remained on guard."

      She rose impulsively from her chair, and gave a flirt to the banner that partially unrolled it.

      "I'm off to intercept him," she said, but a very quiet old lady, with beautiful grey hair, spoke soothingly.

      "Sit down, my dear. I know Lord Stranleigh. He would not do such a thing."

      The girl, but half convinced, slowly re-seated herself. She was in a room where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile. She knew their sneaking ways. However, she made no audible protest, and her companions were all very quiet, as though rather awed by their surroundings, and the celerity with which their desire had been ​accomplished. The door opened, and the Earl of Stranleigh entered.

      As he came in the door closed behind him without any visible motive power. His eye took in very quietly, yet without seeming to do so, the group awaiting him, and then lit up with pleasure as it recognised the thin, delicate old lady with grey hair who rose to greet him. His indolent manner fell from him like a discarded cloak. He came forward rapidly, bent over her proffered slender, white hand, and raised it to his lips with old-fashioned courtesy.

      "We have rather stormed your citadel," she began.

      "Dear madam, had you only let me know you were coming, you would have found my door wide open for your reception, yet you come so splendidly chaperoned that I fear this may be a business visit, and not a friendly call."

      "I hope you will regard it as both."

      "I cannot be so impartial, madam, and am certain to incline towards the friendliness, for, after all, I am but a poor business man."

      "You are quite alone in that opinion, my lord. Indeed, we are here because of your latest coup in business, and so that we may not take you more ​by surprise than already has been the case, I warn you to prepare for an unanimous vote of censure."

      "Dear lady," laughed Stranleigh, "why use a threat when I am eager to obey your slightest request?"

      The girl who had been on guard slipped the stick with its furled banner out of sight behind her chair. This meeting was too much like a scene from a society play: there was nothing militant about it.

      "Pray be seated, madam," said Stranleigh, "and that will allow me to take this chair fronting you all. They say that when danger threatens the best plan is to face it, which accordingly I do. To what successful coup do you refer?"

      Stranleigh took a chair near a table.

      "The newspapers have printed column after column about it. Assisted by the weight of your money, that arch-rascal, Bannerdale, secured his second line to the Pacific, and 'froze out,' I think is their term, meaning ruined, a vast number of unfortunate men opposed to him."

      "Yes," said Stranleigh, "I received many hundreds of letters on that subject, and talking of votes of censure, I've been censured by every reputable journal in England. The incident just proves ​what I have been saying to you, namely, that I'm no man of business at all, but merely a gullible simpleton."

      "Why, how can that be, if it is true that you cleared nearly a million by the deal?"

      "I certainly gained a sum of money, the amount of which I have not had time to enquire, but that was an unintentional side-issue. I made no protest against what the journals said, yet I should be sorry for you to misjudge me. My mind has recently turned towards the possibility of giving away money by some method which will do good instead of harm. At a health resort on the Continent I met a man who seemed poor and ill, and at his behest I made a railway investment through a Frankfort firm. The profits, if any, were to go to him, while the loss, if any, was borne by me. It turned out that the person calling himself Garner was in reality the multi-millionaire railway king, Bannerdale. He needed the use of my name, and secured it. He published a quite untrue statement that I was his partner, and thus was enabled to consummate the deal he had in hand. He never applied to me for a penny of the money I made on his behalf, and so, you see, instead of wearing the hoofs and horns presented to

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