hoking, "I must go to-morrow--I must--I must.... And
here are the violets; ... I will tie them to your collar.... Hold
still!... He loves you; ... but you shall not have them--do you
hear?... No, no, ... for I shall wear them, ... for I like their odor;
... and, anyway, ... I am going away."...

IV

The next day she began her pilgrimage; and His Highness went with her;
and a maid from the British Isles.

She had telegraphed to the Sagamore Club for rooms, to make sure, but
that was unnecessary, because there were at the moment only three
members of the club at the lodge.

Now although she herself could scarcely be considered a member of the
Sagamore Angling Club, she still controlled her husband's shares in the
concern, and she was duly and impressively welcomed by the steward. Two
of the three members domiciled there came up to pay their respects when
she alighted from the muddy buckboard sent to the railway to meet her;
they were her husband's old friends, Colonel Hyssop and Major Brent,
white-haired, purple-faced, well-groomed gentlemen in the early fifties.
The third member was out in the rain fishing somewhere down-stream.

"New man here, madam--a good fellow, but a bad rod--eh, Brent?"

"Bad rod," repeated Major Brent, wagging his fat head. "Uses ferrules to
a six-ounce rod. _We_ splice--eh, Colonel?"

"Certainly," said the Colonel.

[Illustration: "'HERE ARE THE VIOLETS; ... I WILL TIE THEM TO YOUR
COLLAR'"]

She stood by the open fire in the centre of the hallway, holding her
shapely hands out towards the blaze, while her maid relieved her of the
wet rain-coat.

"Splice what, Colonel Hyssop, if you please?" she inquired, smiling.

"Splice our rods, madam--no creaky joints and ferrules for old hands
like Major Brent and me, ma'am. Do you throw a fly?"

"Oh no," she said, with a faint smile. "I--I do nothing."

"Except to remain the handsomest woman in the five boroughs!" said the
Major, with a futile attempt to bend at the waist--utterly unsuccessful,
yet impressive.

She dropped him a courtesy, then took the glass of sherry that the
steward brought and sipped it, meditative eyes on the blazing logs.
Presently she held out the empty wine-glass; the steward took it on his
heavy silver salver; she raised her eyes. A half-length portrait of her
husband stared at her from over the mantel, lighted an infernal red in
the fire-glow.

A catch in her throat, a momentary twitch of the lips, then she ga