crouched
pitifully, watching. Another than she might have failed to discern him,
so craftily did he crawl away; but Flamby, daughter of the woods, saw
the wriggling figure, and knew it; moreover she knew, by the familiarity
with the pathway which he displayed, that this was not the first time
Sir Jacques had visited the spot.

She returned to the cottage, her courage restored and a cold anger in
her breast, to find her mother alternately laughing and sobbing--because
Michael Duveen would be home that day on leave. Whatever plan Flamby had
cherished she now resigned, recognising that only by silence could she
avert a tragedy. But from that morning the invisible guardians of the
pool lamented a nymph who came no more, and the old joy of the woods was
gone for Flamby. At one moment she felt that she could never again
suffer the presence of Sir Jacques, at another that if she must remain
in Lower Charleswood and not die of shame she must pretend that she did
not suspect him to have been the intruder. The subterfuge, ostrich-like,
woman-like, finally was adopted; and meeting Sir Jacques in Babylon Lane
she managed to greet him civilly, employing her mother's poor state of
health as an excuse for discontinuing her visits to Hatton Towers. But
if Flamby's passionate spirit had had its way Sir Jacques that day must
have met the fate of Candaules at the hands of this modern Nyssia.

* * * * *

Standing there beneath the giant elm, Flamby lived again through the
sunshine and the shadows of the past, her thoughts dwelling bitterly
upon the memory of Sir Jacques and of his tireless persecution, which,
from the time that she ceased her visits to Hatton Towers, became more
overt and pursued her almost to the day of Sir Jacques' death. Finally,
and inevitably, she thought again of Paul Mario, and still thinking of
him returned to Dovelands Cottage.

Mrs. Duveen had gone into the town, an expedition which would detain her
for the greater part of the day, since she walked slowly, and the road
was hilly. Therefore Flamby proceeded to set the house in order. A
little red-breasted robin hopped in at the porch, peeped around the
sitting-room and up at the gleaming helmet above the mantelpiece, then
finding the apartment empty hopped on into the kitchen to watch Flamby
at work. Sunlight gladdened the garden and the orchard where blackbirds
were pecking the cherries; a skylark rose from the meadow opposite t