ay. Why, the chorus of her last song has haunted me ever
since--the tune, not the words. It went something like this, as far as
I can remember:

"Poor little Flo,
How should she know?
A simple country maiden
From the wilds of Pimlico."

As Giddy Mounteagle sings the lines a latchkey turns in the hall lock,
footsteps advance down the passage, the dining-room door opens, and
Philip Roche stands before them!

[Illustration: The dining-room door opens, and Philip Roche stands
before them.]

CHAPTER VI.

LIKE ONE THAT ON A LONESOME ROAD
DOST WALK IN FEAR AND DREAD.

Eleanor's blood runs cold at the sight of her husband. She knows well
what he will think of this impromptu, supper-party. Giddy's feet for the
moment are mercifully concealed by the table-cloth. She half rises,
however, and stretches out her hand to Mr. Roche.

"Eleanor was just wishing you would come back," she murmurs sweetly.

"I returned quite by chance," he answers coldly, knowing her words to be
untrue. "Brown could not put me up after all," turning to his wife, "so
I drove down."

"Philip, this is Mr. Quinton; he kindly saw me home, and--and----"

"We persuaded him to come in," adds Giddy, as Carol, grasping the
situation, says pleasantly:

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Roche."

But, though Philip is far too gentlemanly to show his disapproval, all
the hilarity has gone from the evening. Perhaps it is due to Eleanor's
sudden tranquillity, the pallor of her face, and nervous hesitating
speech. She is no adept at concealing her emotions or "passing things
off" like Giddy and Carol. She leaves the rest of the conversation to
them, and while Philip is seeing Mr. Quinton out slips upstairs for
Giddy's shoes and beseeches her to put them on.

"My husband will think it so odd," she whispers. "I saw him looking at
your hair."

"Yes," replies Mrs. Mounteagle, "men always admire it. But don't be
alarmed, dear; I am far too fond of you to care about making a friend of
your husband." Then she saunters up to bed, with a glance at Eleanor's
pretty, troubled face.

"I wonder if she'll have sense enough to hold her own," thinks Giddy.
"Poor little fool, to be sat upon already!" She hears them come up, and
creeping from her room steals on tip-toe to their door, with her ear to
the keyhole.

There are high words within, and some unpleasant allusions to herself in
distinctly masculine tones. Eleanor is hea