rest
suffusing her cheek. Before she replied, she held the dainty bit of lace
to her straight little nose.

"You are very sentimental," she said at last. "Would you care to keep
it? It is of no value to me."

"Thanks, I will keep it."

"I've changed my mind," she said inconsequently, stuffing the fabric in
her gauntlet. "You have something else in that pocketbook that I should
very much like to possess."

"It can't be that Bank of England--"

"No, no! You wrapped it in a bit of paper last week and placed it there
for safe keeping."

"You mean the bullet?"

"Yes. I should like it. To show to my friends, you know, when I tell
them how near you were to being shot." Without a word he gave her the
bullet that had dropped at his feet on that first day at the chateau.
"Thank you. Oh, isn't it a horrid thing! Just to think, it might have
struck you!" She shuddered.

He was about to answer in his delirium when a sharp turn in the road
brought them in view of the chateau. Not a hundred yards ahead of them
two persons were riding slowly, unattended, very much occupied in
themselves. Their backs were toward Chase and the Princess, but it was
an easy matter to recognise them. The glance which shot from the
Princess to Chase found a peculiar smile disappearing from his lips.

"I know what you are thinking," she cried impulsively "You are
wrong--very wrong, Mr. Chase. Lady Deppingham is a born coquette--a born
trifler. It is ridiculous to think that she can be seriously engaged in
a--"

"It isn't that, Princess," he interrupted, a dark loot in his eyes. "I
was merely wondering whether dear little Mrs. Browne is as happy as she
might be."

Genevra was silent for a moment.

"I had not thought of that," she said soberly.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BURNING OF THE BUNGALOW

He went in and had tiffin with them in the hanging garden. Deppingham
was surly and preoccupied. Drusilla Browne was unusually vivacious. At
best, she was not volatile; her greatest accomplishment lay in the
ability to appreciate what others had to say. This in itself is a treat
so unusual that one feels like commending the woman who carries it to
excess.

Her husband, aside from a natural anxiety, was the same blithe optimist
as ever. He showed no sign of restraint, no evidence of compunction.
Chase found himself secretly speculating on the state of affairs. Were
the two heirs working out a preconceived plan or were they, after all,
playing w