the grounds of Wuthering Grange, and that it was highly
improbable either Margot or any of her crew could have put it there.
Still, Margot had a purpose in "catching" Mr. Harry Raynor; and if----
Ah, well, you never can tell. Shallow-looking pools are sometimes very
deep. Which, then, _was_ Mr. Harry Raynor: the brainless fool he
appeared, or a very excellent actor playing a very cunning part?

During the moment it had taken for these thoughts to travel through his
mind, Cleek's whole attention seemed to be claimed by his cigar, which,
for some unknown reason, appeared to have an objection to draw. Now,
however, he flung the thing aside.

"Pardon me, dear boy, if I have seemed inattentive," he said. "Please go
on. What was it you were saying? Oh, ah! I recollect: about your being
the only guest that Mademoiselle What's-her-name ever asks to her
blessed kick-ups. Lay you a tanner I can tell you why, old chap."

"Can you? Then why?"

"Either she's clean gone on you--which, no doubt, is very likely--or
she's trying to get something out of you. Ever give you what our Yankee
cousins call the touch? Ever try to get anything out of you?"

"Not a blessed rap. Never wanted _anything_ from me. That is, anything
in the money line, I mean. Hinted pretty strongly at something else,
however; but, of course, I wasn't taking any on that score!"

"Weren't you? Why not?"

"Don't be an ass, Barchie! You've seen the pater and mater, and you can
judge for yourself just how impossible it would be to even hint at
having a girl like Mignon asked over here to dinner one night just
simply because she has, as she says, an intense yearning to see how
people of the better class in England live and conduct themselves in
their own homes."

Cleek reached for another cigar and lit it. Oho! so that was how the cat
jumped, was it? That was Margot's little game, eh? She had taken up with
this engaging young man merely for the purpose of getting an entree to
Wuthering Grange. Clearly, then, there must be something or some one
under the roof of this house that she desired to get in contact with;
and having failed to get _invited_, as she had hoped----Yes, of course!
Cunning of her, diabolically cunning. Forgotten all about the bracelet,
eh? Not she! He knew her like a book. It would be an excuse to come over
in person to ask for its return. "So sorry; but called away suddenly,
and couldn't possibly wait for you to bring it back." That sort of
thin