d humbly. "All the way
probably."

Lady Splay was mollified, and went on to her room. Down in the hall,
Harry Luttrell turned to Joan.

"This is going to be a wonderful week for me."

"I am very glad," answered Joan, and they went up the stairs side by
side.

CHAPTER XXII

JENNY PRASK

"I have put out the blue dress with the silver underskirt, madam," said
Jenny Prask, knowing well that nothing in Stella Croyle's wardrobe set
off so well her dark and fragile beauty.

"Very well, Jenny."

Stella Croyle answered listlessly. She was discouraged by her experience
of that afternoon. She had come to Rackham Park, certain of one factor
upon her side, but very certain of that. She would find no competitor,
and lo! the invincible competitor, youth, had put on armour against her!
Stella looked in the mirror. She was thirty, and in the circle within
which she moved, thirty meant climbing reluctantly on to the shelf.

"Don't you think, Jenny, the blue frock makes me look old?"

Jenny Prask laughed scornfully.

"Old, madam! You! Just fancy!"

Stella Croyle, living much alone, had made a companion of her maid.
There was nothing of Mrs. Croyle's history which Jenny Prask did not
know, and very few of her hopes and sorrows were hidden from her.

"My gracious me, madam! There will be nobody to hold a candle to you
here!" she said, with a sniff, as she helped Stella to undress.

Stella looked in the glass. Certainly there was not a line upon the
smoothness of her cheeks; her dark hair had lost none of its gloss. She
took her features one by one, and found no trace of change. Nor, indeed,
scrutinised in that way did Stella show any change. It was when you saw
her across a room that you recognised that girlhood had gone, and that
there was a woman in the full ripeness of her beauty.

"Yes," she said, and her listlessness began to disappear. She turned
away from the mirror. "Come, Jenny!" she cried, with a hopeful smile.
She was saying to herself, "I have still a chance."

Jenny rattled on while she assisted her mistress. Stella's face changed
with her mood, more than most faces. Disappointment and fatigue aged her
beyond due measure. Jenny Prask was determined that she could go down to
dinner to-night looking her youngest and best.

"I went for a walk this evening with Mr. Marvin. He's Colonel Luttrell's
soldier-servant, and quite enthusiastic, he was, madam."

"Was he, Jenny?"

"Quite! The men in his compa