owded thick and fast in her mind as she munched her grapes;
most of them went galloping away after the tall, erect figure of her
husband, whom she had watched riding out of sight more than five hours
ago.

In answer to her eager inquiries, Louise brought back the news that the
groom had come home with Sultan, having left Sir Percy in London. The
groom thought that his master was about to get on board his schooner,
which was lying off just below London Bridge. Sir Percy had ridden thus
far, had then met Briggs, the skipper of the DAY DREAM, and had sent the
groom back to Richmond with Sultan and the empty saddle.

This news puzzled Marguerite more than ever. Where could Sir Percy be
going just now in the DAY DREAM? On Armand's behalf, he had said. Well!
Sir Percy had influential friends everywhere. Perhaps he was going to
Greenwich, or . . . but Marguerite ceased to conjecture; all would be
explained anon: he said that he would come back, and that he would
remember. A long, idle day lay before Marguerite. She was expecting a
visit of her old school-fellow, little Suzanne de Tournay. With all
the merry mischief at her command, she had tendered her request for
Suzanne's company to the Comtesse in the Presence of the Prince of Wales
last night. His Royal Highness had loudly applauded the notion, and
declared that he would give himself the pleasure of calling on the two
ladies in the course of the afternoon. The Comtesse had not dared to
refuse, and then and there was entrapped into a promise to send little
Suzanne to spend a long and happy day at Richmond with her friend.

Marguerite expected her eagerly; she longed for a chat about old
school-days with the child; she felt that she would prefer Suzanne's
company to that of anyone else, and together they would roam through the
fine old garden and rich deer park, or stroll along the river.

But Suzanne had not come yet, and Marguerite being dressed, prepared to
go downstairs. She looked quite a girl this morning in her simple muslin
frock, with a broad blue sash round her slim waist, and the dainty
cross-over fichu into which, at her bosom, she had fastened a few late
crimson roses.

She crossed the landing outside her own suite of apartments, and stood
still for a moment at the head of the fine oak staircase, which led to
the lower floor. On her left were her husband's apartments, a suite of
rooms which she practically never entered.

They consisted of bedroom, dressin