"Nobody'll see you if you get out a hundred yards from the door—and it's really better than tramping the road on a day like this. Of course, if Beach Path were open—!" He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly.

Fear of the Marchesa struggled in Miss Gilletson's heart with the horror of the hot[Pg 123] and tiring walk—with the seduction of the shady, softly rolling, speedy carriage.

[Pg 123]

"If I met Helena!" she whispered; and the whisper was an admission of reciprocal confidence.

"It's the chance of that against the certainty of the tramp!"

"She didn't come down to breakfast this morning——"

"Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a note for his Intelligence Department.

"Perhaps she isn't up yet! I—I think I'll take the risk."

Lynborough assisted her into the carriage.

"I hope we shall meet again," he said, with no small empressement.

"I'm afraid not," answered Miss Gilletson dolefully. "You see, Helena——"

"Yes, yes; but ladies have their moods.[Pg 124] Anyhow you won't think too hardly of me, will you? I'm not altogether an ogre."

[Pg 124]

There was a pretty faint blush on Miss Gilletson's cheek as she gave him her hand. "An ogre! No, dear Lord Lynborough," she murmured.

"A wedge!" said Lynborough, as he watched her drive away.

He was triumphant with what he had achieved—he was full of hope for what he had planned. If he reckoned right, the loyalty of the ladies at Nab Grange to the mistress thereof was tottering, if it had not fallen. His relations with the men awaited the result of the cricket match. Yet neither his triumph nor his hope could in the nature of the case exist without an intermixture of remorse. He hurt—or tried to hurt—what he would please—and hoped to please. His mood was mixed, and his smile not al[Pg 125]together mirthful as he stood looking at the fast-receding carriage.

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