till chastened by the delicious autumn
haze--captivated his imagination. There was, seen thus, a simplicity
and distinction altogether classic in the lonely building. To him it
appeared not unfit shrine for the worship of that same all-pervasive
spirit of mystery, not unfit spot for the revelation of that same glad,
yet cunningly elusive secret, of which he suffered the so fond
obsession.

And so it was that when, coming abreast of the building, the sound of
young voices--women's voices--and finely modulated laughter saluted his
ear, though startled for no stranger had the right of entry to the
park, he was by no means displeased. This seemed but part of the
all-pervasive magic of this strange afternoon. Richard smiled at the
phantasies of his own mood; yet he forgot to be shy, forgot the
distressing self-consciousness which made him shrink from the
observation of strangers--specially those of the other sex. The
adventure tempted his fancy. Even familiar things had put on a new and
beguiling vesture in the last half hour, so there were miracles abroad,
perhaps. Anyhow he would satisfy himself as to the aspect of those
sweet voiced and, as yet, unseen trespassers. He let his horse go
forward slowly across the platform of turf.

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH RICHARD CONFIRMS ONE JUDGMENT AND REVERSES ANOTHER

"How magnificently your imagination gallops when it once gets agoing.
Here you are bearing away the spoils, when the siege is not yet even
begun--never will be, I venture to hope, for I doubt if this would be a
very honourable----"

The speaker broke off abruptly, as the shadow of horse and rider
lengthened upon the turf. And, during the silence which followed,
Richard Calmady received an impression at once arresting and subtly
disquieting.

A young lady, of about his own age, leaned against one of the white
pillars of the colonnade. Her attitude and costume were alike slightly
unconventional. She was unusually tall, and there was a lazy, almost
boyish indifference and grace in the pose of her supple figure and the
gallant carriage of her small head. She wore a straight, pale
gray-green jacket, into the pockets of which her hands were thrust. Her
skirt, of the same colour and material, hung in straight folds to her
feet, being innocent alike of trimming and the then prevailing fashion
of crinoline. Further, she wore a little, round matador's hat, three
black pompons planted audaciously upstanding above the le