people in England and of his brother the Irish
peer. He knew their prejudices. What would they say if the heir
presumptive to the barony came home with an American wife? Yet why
should he care?

The worry about Saunders came back. He was undoubtedly a detective,
and surely detectives did not without cause shadow ladies of good
social standing? Mark knew there was something wrong. He knew there
was danger to himself, to his heart, and to his peace; so he decided
that he had better go away at once. Then the face he had seen as she
stepped past him out of the tree rose up, and he heard again the voice
that had in it so much gratitude when she thanked him for his little
service.

"Damn it, man," he said to himself, "you can't be a coward! She needs
help; stay to give it." That was Mark's first and last struggle over
his long-delayed moving problem.

He met Saunders at breakfast the next morning. The detective must have
been thinking, too, for his glance at Mark held a trifle of suspicion.
Mark was too old a student of human nature to miss the significance of
the look, and Saunders was too young at his business entirely to
conceal his own feelings. He tried--but too late--and was foolish
enough to think he had not betrayed himself.

Mark made up his mind to profit by the suspicion.

"Good morning, Saunders. You are thinking of the lady in the veil?"

But Saunders was already back in his shell. He looked puzzled. "Veil?
Lady? Oh, yes. Sure I am. It would be very ungallant to forget her.
She's too pretty."

"How do you know? You didn't see her face."

"I was just guessing. We Yankees are good at guessing. Don't you
English concede that?"

"Guessing and wooden nutmegs," said Mark, "both go with the Yankee
character."

"Guessing, wooden nutmegs, and a little taste of Brandywine thrown in
for flavor."

"Very unkind of you to throw our defeats in our teeth--and especially
into mine; for you know that I am half Irish, and we Irish helped you."

Saunders laughed as they approached the desk together.

"Letter for you, Mr. Griffin," said the clerk, throwing a square
envelope on the desk.

Saunders just glanced at it before Mark himself saw that the letter was
without a stamp; it had come by messenger. The detective turned his
back to hide a smile, then walked to the reading table and picked up a
paper.

Mark opened his letter. It was from the lady of the tree--only a few
lines--an invitation