ctness of the question seemed to rob it of its
impertinence. Jeanne laughed goodhumouredly.

"I can assure you that I did not," she answered. "To tell you the
truth, and I hope that you will be kind and remember that I do not wish
any one to know this, the reason why I only go out so early in the
morning or late at night is because I do not wish to see any one from
the Red Hall. I do not wish them to know that I am here."

"They do gossip in a small place like this most amazing," the girl said
slowly. "When you and the other lady came down from London to stay up
yonder, they did say that you were a great heiress, and that Mr. De la
Borne was counting on marrying you, and buying back all the lands that
have slipped away from the De la Bornes back to Burnham Market and
Wells township."

Jeanne shrugged her shoulders.

"I cannot help," she said, "what people say. Every one has spoken of me
always as being very rich, and a good many men have wanted to marry me
to spend my money. That is why I came down here, if you want to know,
Miss Caynsard. I came to escape from a man whom my stepmother was
determined that I should marry, and whom I hated."

The girl looked at her wonderingly.

"It is a strange manner of living," she said, "when a girl is not to
choose her own man."

"In any case," Jeanne said smiling, "if I had but one or two to choose
from in the world, I should never choose Mr. De la Borne."

The girl was gloomily silent. She was looking up towards the Red Hall,
her lips a little parted, her face dark, her brows lowering.

"'Tis a family," she said slowly, "that have come down well-nigh to
their last acre. They hold on to the Hall, but little else. Folk say
that for four hundred years or more the De la Bornes have heard the sea
thunder from within them walls. 'Tis, perhaps, as some writer has said
in a book I've found lately, that the old families of the country, when
once their menkind cease to be soldiers or fighters in the world, do
decay and become rotten. It is so with the De la Bornes, or rather with
one of them."

"Mr. Andrew," Jeanne remarked timidly.

"Mr. Andrew," the girl interrupted, "is a great gentleman, but he is
never one of those who would stop the rot in a decaying race. He is a
great strong man is Mr. Andrew, and deceit and littleness are things he
knows nothing of. I wish he were here to-day."

The girl's face wore a troubled expression. Jeanne began to suspect
that she had not as ye