s marked. Indeed, they
were related, for the Tremaines were a distant branch of the Leroy
family, and the same proud blood ran in their veins. Lady Constance had
been brought up in the Barminster household, and Adrien had grown to
regard her in the light of a loved and trusted sister; but, as yet,
nothing more.

"Won't you come in to breakfast?" she said, as they reached the end of
the terrace. "Aunt Penelope is not coming down; her nerves are bad this
morning."

Miss Penelope Leroy, Lord Barminster's only sister, was not strictly
speaking Constance's aunt, merely a distant cousin; but as a child
Constance had been accustomed to call her so, and the habit had grown up
with her.

Lord Barminster smiled grimly.

"I advised her to let the cucumber alone last night," was his only
comment as he turned towards the breakfast room.

Constance smiled too, for she knew that when Miss Penelope complained of
her nerves, it was in reality nothing but a case of indigestion.

"How bright the course looks this morning!" she said, with a charitable
wish to change the subject, for Lord Barminster was apt at times to wax
caustic over his sister's small weaknesses.

"Yes," he said grimly; "like all things dangerous, it is pleasant to the
eye. I hate that strip of green--it is the grave of many a Leroys' best
hope. The turf has always been a fatal snare to our race. But, come," he
broke off, "let us go in. Thank goodness, Adrien arrives to-day."

"To-day?" repeated Lady Constance, a delicate flush rising to her sweet
face. "I thought he was not going to arrive until the morning of the
race."

"The race is to-morrow, but he comes to-day," answered Lord Barminster.
"I had a note from him last night saying he would be here by lunch time,
and was bringing a few friends down with him."

"And Mr. Vermont, too?" inquired Lady Constance almost timidly.

The old man's face darkened and his thin lips set in a hard line.

"Yes," he said fiercely, "I suppose so. Adrien is as much in love with
him as a young fellow with his first sweetheart. I know that he's a
scoundrel and a rogue--but there, what would you? Times have changed
since my day; we have replaced horses by motors, to spoil our roads and
ruin our lands, and gentleman friends by base-born, scheming
adventurers."

"Oh, but, uncle," Lady Constance timidly remonstrated, "surely Mr.
Vermont is a gentleman?"

"Yes, by Act of Parliament!" snapped the old man, in whose aristocratic