roup of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house.

"What house is that?" asked Jim Airth, quickly.

"The Lodge, sir."

"Who lives there?"

"Mrs. O'Mara, sir."

"Has Mrs. O'Mara returned?"

"I don't know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship this
morning."

"Then she _has_ returned," said Jim Airth.

The groom looked perplexed, but made no comment.

Jim Airth turned in his seat, and looked back at the Lodge. It was a far
smaller house than he had expected. This fact did not seem to depress
him. He smiled to himself, as at some thought which gave him amusement
and pleasure. While he still looked back, a side door opened; a neatly
dressed woman in black, apparently a superior lady's-maid, appeared on
the doorstep, shook out a white table-cloth, and re-entered the house.

They flew on up the avenue, Jim Airth noting every tree with appreciation
and pleasure. The fine old house came into view, and a moment later they
drew up at the entrance.

"Good driving," remarked Jim Airth approvingly, as he tipped the little
groom. Then he turned, to find the great doors already standing wide, and
a stately butler, with immense black eyebrows, waiting to receive him.

"Will you come to her ladyship's sitting-room, sir?" said the butler, and
led the way.

Jim Airth entered a charmingly appointed room, and looked around.

It was empty.

"Kindly wait here, sir, while I acquaint her ladyship with your arrival,"
said the pompous person with the eyebrows, and went out noiselessly,
closing the door behind him.

Left alone, Jim Airth commenced taking rapid note of the room, hoping to
gain therefrom some ideas as to the tastes and character of its
possessor. But almost immediately his attention was arrested by a
life-size portrait of Lord Ingleby, hanging above the mantelpiece.

Jim Airth walked over to the hearthrug, and stood long, looking with
silent intentness at the picture.

"Excellent," he said to himself, at last. "Extraordinarily clever. That
chap shall paint Myra, if I can lay hands on him. What a jolly little
dog! And what devotion! Mutual and absorbing. I suppose that is Peter.
Queer to think that I should have been the last to hear him calling
Peter. I wonder whether Lady Ingleby liked Peter. If not, I doubt if she
would have had much of a look-in. If anyone went to the wall it certainly
wasn't Peter."

He was still absorbed in the picture, when the butler returned with a
long message, solemnly de