d you this morning. I had a run with the Stoneshire hounds."

"Whom did you meet there?"

"Oh, various old acquaintances. Nobody amusing." He gave two or three
names, his conscience pricking him. Somehow, at that moment, it seemed
impossible to mention Chloe Fairmile.

* * * * *

About eleven o'clock that night, Daphne and Lady Barnes having just gone
upstairs, Roger and a local Colonel of Volunteers who was dining and
spending the night at Heston, were in the smoking-room. Colonel Williams
had come over to discuss Volunteer prospects in the neighbourhood, and
had been delighted to find in the grandson of his old friend, Oliver
Trescoe,--a young fellow whom he and others had too readily regarded as
given over to luxury and soft living--signs of the old public spirit,
the traditional manliness of the family. The two men were talking with
great cordiality, when the sound of a dogcart driving up to the front
door disturbed them.

"Who on earth?--at this time of night?" said Roger.

The butler, entering with fresh cigarettes, explained that Miss Farmer
had only just returned, having missed an earlier train.

"Well, I hope to goodness she won't go and disturb Miss Beatty,"
grumbled Roger; and and then, half to himself, half to his companion, as
the butler departed--"I don't believe she missed her train; she's one of
the cool sort--does jolly well what she likes! I say, Colonel, do you
like 'lady helps'? I don't!"

Half an hour later, Roger, having said good-night to his guest ten
minutes before, was mounting the stairs on his own way to bed, when he
heard in the distance the sound of a closing door and the rustle of a
woman's dress.

Nurse Farmer, he supposed, who had been gossiping with Daphne. His face,
as the candle shone upon it, expressed annoyance. Vaguely, he resented
the kind of intimacy which had grown up lately between Daphne and her
child's nurse. She was not the kind of person to make a friend of; she
bullied Beatty; and she must be got rid of.

Yet when he entered his wife's room, everything was dark, and Daphne was
apparently sound asleep. Her face was hidden from him; and he moved on
tiptoe so as not to disturb her. Evidently it was not she who had been
gossiping late. His mother, perhaps, with her maid.

CHAPTER VIII

In the course of that night Roger Barnes's fate was decided, while he
lay, happily sleeping, beside his wife. Daphne, as soon as she heard hi