sking you to make a party to go
there, as I dote on lovely scenery; and I dare say"--coquettishly--"she
knew--I mean thought--you would not refuse so small a request of mine.
But for poor Lady FitzAlmont's headache we should be there now."

"It is true," admits Sir Adrian, feeling that the last straw has
descended.

"And now that I think of it," the widow goes on, even more vivaciously,
"the reason she assigned for not coming with us must have been a feigned
one. Ah, slyboots that she is!" laughs Mrs. Talbot merrily. "Of course,
she wanted the course clear to have an explanation with Arthur. Well,
after all, that was only natural. But she might have trusted me, whom
she knows to be her true friend."

Ill-tempered--capricious--sly! And all these faults are attributed to
Florence by "her true friend!" A quotation assigned to Marechal Villars
when taking leave of Louis XIV. occurs to him--"Defend me from my
friends." The words return to him persistently; but then he looks down
on Dora Talbot, and stares straight into her liquid blue eyes, so
apparently guileless and pure, and tells himself that he wrongs her.
Yes, it is a pity Florence had not put greater faith in this kind little
woman, a pity for all of them, as then many heart-breaks might have been
prevented.

CHAPTER IV.

It is the evening of the theatricals; and in one of the larger
drawing-rooms at the castle, where the stage has been erected, and also
in another room behind connected with it by folding-doors, everybody of
note in the county is already assembled. Fans are fluttering--so are
many hearts behind the scenes--and a low buzz of conversation is being
carried on among the company.

Then the curtain rises; the fans stop rustling, the conversation ceases,
and all faces turn curiously to the small but perfect stage that the
London workmen have erected.

Every one is very anxious to see what his or her neighbor is going to do
when brought before a critical audience. Nobody, of course, hopes openly
for a break-down, but secretly there are a few who would be glad to see
such-and-such a one's pride lowered.

No mischance, however, occurs. The insipid Tony speaks his lines
perfectly, if he fails to grasp the idea that a little acting thrown in
would be an improvement; a very charming Cousin Con is made out of Miss
Villiers; a rather stilted but strictly correct old lady out of Lady
Gertrude Vining. But Florence Delmaine, as Kate Hardcastle, leaves