reply to her banter, that Louise
was a darling! That he was awfully fond of her, that she had the most
wonderful eyes, and that she was always alert and full of a keen sense
of humour.

Such a compliment Hugh had never paid to her. The recollection of it
stung her.

She wondered what sort of woman was the person named Bond. Then she
decided that she had acted wisely in not going to Farnham. Why should
she? If Hugh was with the girl he admired, then he might return with
her.

Her only fear was lest he should be arrested. If his place of
concealment were spoken of over a West End dinner-table, then it could
not be long before detectives arrested him for the affair at the Villa
Amette.

On that afternoon Hugh had borrowed Mrs. Bond's car upon a rather lame
pretext, and had pulled up in the square, inartistic yard before the
Bush--the old coaching house, popular before the new road over the Hog's
Back was made, and when the coaches had to ascend that steep hill out
of Guildford, now known as The Mount. For miles the old road is now
grass-grown and forms a most delightful walk, with magnificent views
from the Thames Valley to the South Downs. The days of the coaches have,
alas! passed, and the new road, with its tangle of telegraph wires,
is beloved by every motorist and motor-cyclist who spins westward in
Surrey.

Hugh waited anxiously in the little lounge which overlooks the
courtyard. He went into the garden, and afterwards stood in impatience
beneath the archway from which the street is approached. Later, he
strolled along the road over which he knew Dorise must come. But all to
no avail.

There was no sign of her.

Until six o'clock he waited, when, in blank despair, he mounted beside
Mead again and drove back to Shapley Manor. It was curious that
Dorise had not come to meet him, but he attributed it to The Sparrow's
inability to convey a message to her. She might have gone out of town
with her mother, he thought. Or, perhaps, at the last moment, she had
been unable to get away.

On his return to Shapley he found Louise and Mrs. Bond sitting together
in the charming, old-world drawing-room. A log fire was burning
brightly.

"Did you have a nice run, Hugh?" asked the girl, clasping her hands
behind her head and looking up at him as he stood upon the pale-blue
hearthrug.

"Quite," he replied. "I went around Hindhead down to Frensham Ponds and
back through Farnham--quite a pleasant run."

"Mr. Benton has