nd the Lady Ethelrida did not answer, but allowed herself to be drawn
into his arms.

And so in the firelight, with the watchful gray owl, the two rested
blissfully content.

CHAPTER XXXI

When Lady Ethelrida came down to tea, her sweet face was prettily
flushed, for she was quite unused to caresses and the kisses of a man.
Her soft gray eyes were shining with a happiness of which she had not
dreamed, and above all things, she was filled with the exquisite emotion
of having a secret!--a secret of which even her dear friend Anne was
ignorant--a blessed secret, just shared between her lover and herself.
And Lady Anningford, who had no idea that she had spent the afternoon
with the financier, but believed she had religiously written letters
alone, wondered to herself what on earth made Ethelrida look so joyous
and not the least fatigued, as most of the others were. She really got
prettier, she thought, as she grew older, and was always the greatest
dear in the whole world. But, to look as happy as that and have a face
so flushed, was quite mysterious and required the opinion of the Crow!

So she dragged Colonel Lowerby off to a sofa, and began at once:

"Crow, do look at Ethelrida's face! Did you ever see one so idiotically
blissful, except when she has been kissed by the person she loves?"

"Well, how do you know that is not the case with our dear Ethelrida?"
grunted the Crow. "She did not come out for a walk. You had better count
up, and see who else stayed at home!"

So Lady Anningford began laughingly. The idea was too impossible, but
she must reason it out.

"There was Lord Melton but Lady Melton stayed behind, too, and the
Thornbys--all impossible. There was no one else except Tristram, who I
know was in the smoking-room, with a fearful headache, and Mr.
Markrute, who was with the Duke."

"Was he with the Duke?" queried the Crow.

"Crow!" almost gasped Lady Anningford. "Do you mean to tell me that you
think Ethelrida would have her face looking like that about a foreigner!
My dear friend, you must have taken leave of your seven senses--" and
then she paused, for several trifles came back to her recollection,
connected with these two, which, now that the Crow had implanted a
suspicion in her breast, began to assume considerable proportions.

Ethelrida had talked of most irrelevant matters always during their
good-night chats, unless the subject happened to be Zara, and she had
never once mentioned M