s: that the plans of the lines of Torres
Vedras were kept locked up in Sir Terence's own room--in the strong-box,
no doubt--and that Sir Terence always carried the key on a gold chain
worn round his neck.

Miss Armytage laughed. "Whatever I might do, I should not be guilty of
prying into matters that my husband kept hidden."

"Then you admit a husband's right to keep matters hidden from his wife?"

"Why not?"

"Madam," Samoval bowed to her, "your future husband is to be envied on
yet another count."

And thus the conversation drifted, Samoval conceiving that he had
obtained all the information of which Lady O'Moy was possessed, and
satisfied that he had obtained all that for the moment he required.
How to proceed now was a more difficult matter, to be very seriously
considered--how to obtain from Sir Terence the key in question, and
reach the plans so essential to Marshal Massena.

He was at table with them, as you know, when Sip Terence and Colonel
Grant arrived. He and the colonel were presented to each other, and
bowed with a gravity quite cordial on the part of Samoval, who was by
far the more subtle dissembler of the two. Each knew the other perfectly
for what he was; yet each was in complete ignorance of the extent of the
other's knowledge of himself; and certainly neither betrayed anything by
his manner.

At table the conversation was led naturally enough by Tremayne to
Wellington's general order against duelling. This was inevitable when
you consider that it was a topic of conversation that morning at every
table to which British officers sat down. Tremayne spoke of the measure
in terms of warm commendation, thereby provoking a sharp disagreement
from Samoval. The deep and almost instinctive hostility between these
two men, which had often been revealed in momentary flashes, was such
that it must invariably lead them to take opposing sides in any matter
admitting of contention.

"In my opinion it is a most arbitrary and degrading enactment," said
Samoval. "I say so without hesitation, notwithstanding my profound
admiration and respect for Lord Wellington and all his measures."

"Degrading?" echoed Grant, looking across at him. "In what can it be
degrading, Count?"

"In that it reduces a gentleman to the level of the clod," was the
prompt answer. "A gentleman must have his quarrels, however sweet his
disposition, and a means must be afforded him of settling them."

"Ye can always thrash an impudent