gorse. We can make our circuit then without a break."

"My dear fellow!" Duncombe protested, "was it worth while asking me such
a thing? Of course you can."

"That's settled, then," Lord Runton declared, turning back towards the
omnibus. "Let me introduce you to my friends," he added, resting his
hand upon the other's shoulder, "and then we'll be off."

Duncombe, in whose ears his friend's cry was still ringing, pressed
eagerly forward.

"This is my neighbor, Sir George Duncombe," Lord Runton said, looking
into the carriage, "who will shoot with us to-morrow. Miss Fielding and
Mr. Fielding, Lady Angrave and the Baron Von Rothe."

Lady Angrave held out her hand.

"Sir George and I are almost old friends," she said, with a somewhat
languid smile. "We were both at Castle Holkham last autumn."

Duncombe murmured something conventional as he bowed over her fingers.
His whole attention was riveted upon the tall, pale girl in the further
corner of the omnibus. Her acknowledgment of his introduction had been
of the slightest, and her features were obscured by a white veil. She
looked away from him at once and continued a whispered conversation with
the white-haired gentleman at her side. Duncombe could think of no
excuse for addressing her.

"I shall have the pleasure of meeting you all again to-morrow," he said,
closing the door after Lord Runton. "I won't keep you now. I know what
the journey is down from town. Good night, Runton!"

"Good night, George. Ten o'clock sharp!"

The carriage rolled off, and Duncombe returned to his own domain. Andrew
was waiting for him impatiently by the gate.

"Well!" he exclaimed eagerly, "you have seen her. Well?"

The man was trembling with excitement. There were drops of perspiration
upon his forehead. His voice sounded unnatural.

"I saw a young lady in the carriage," Duncombe answered, "or rather I
did not see her, for she wore a veil, and she scarcely looked at me. But
she was introduced to me as Miss Fielding, and her father was with her."

"Fielding! Fielding!" Andrew repeated. "Never mind that. What was she
like! What colored hair had she?"

"I told you that she kept her veil down," Duncombe repeated. "Her hair
was a sort of deep, red-brown--what I could see of it. But, seriously,
Andrew, what is the use of discussing her? One might as soon expect one
of my housemaids to change into Phyllis Poynton, as to discover her with
a brand-new father, a brand-new name, and a g