mansions of England, an architectural triumph that still remained almost the same as it was on the death of its builder. Its great vaulted hall with the wonderful fireplace and carved minstrels’ gallery, its fine old tapestries in King James’s room, the yellow drawing-room, the red boudoir, and the Baron’s hall, full of antique furniture, were all splendid apartments breathing of an age long past and forgotten.

Being something of an antiquary myself, I loved Ryhall, and took a keen delight in exploring its quaint passages and discovering its secret doors in picture-frames and panelling. Tibbie, however, who had no love for old things, hated Ryhall. She preferred everything essentially modern, the art nouveau, art colourings, and the electric light of her mother’s house in Grosvenor Street. She only came down to Ryhall when absolutely necessary, and then grumbled constantly, even worrying Jack, her brother—now Lord Scarcliff—to “put some decent new furniture into the place,” and declaring to her mother that the house was full of moths and rats.

“Look!” she suddenly exclaimed at last. “The boys are coming home! Can’t you see them there, down in the avenue?” and she pointed with her finger. “Well,” she added, “you’re not a bit entertaining, Wilfrid. You refuse to become my husband, so I suppose I shall have to marry someone else. The mater says I really must marry somebody.”

“Of course, you must,” I said. “But who is to be the happy man? Have you decided?”

“M’-well, I don’t quite know. Ellice Winsloe is a good fellow, and we’re very friendly,” she admitted. “The mater approves of him, because he’s well off.”

“Then she wouldn’t approve of me,” I laughed. “You know I haven’t got very much.”

“I’ve never asked her. Indeed, if you would marry me I shouldn’t ask her, I should marry first and ask afterwards.”

“But do you really mean to marry Ellice?” I asked seriously. “Is he—well, such a very particular friend?”

“He proposed to me a fortnight ago after the Jardines’ dance, and I refused him—I always refuse, you know,” and she smiled again.

She was as gay and merry as usual, yet there was about her face a look of strange anxiety that greatly puzzled me.

“Then you’ve had other offers?”

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