king
slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch. I heard Mrs.
Inglethorp call "Cynthia" impatiently, and the girl started and ran back
to the house. At the same moment, a man stepped out from the shadow of
a tree and walked slowly in the same direction. He looked about forty,
very dark with a melancholy clean-shaven face. Some violent emotion
seemed to be mastering him. He looked up at my window as he passed, and
I recognized him, though he had changed much in the fifteen years that
had elapsed since we last met. It was John's younger brother, Lawrence
Cavendish. I wondered what it was that had brought that singular
expression to his face.

Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to the contemplation of
my own affairs.

The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of that
enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the
anticipation of a delightful visit.

I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when she volunteered to
take me for a walk, and we spent a charming afternoon roaming in the
woods, returning to the house about five.

As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the
smoking-room. I saw at once by his face that something disturbing had
occurred. We followed him in, and he shut the door after us.

"Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess. Evie's had a row with
Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off."

"Evie? Off?"

John nodded gloomily.

"Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evie herself."

Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and she carried
a small suit-case. She looked excited and determined, and slightly on
the defensive.

"At any rate," she burst out, "I've spoken my mind!"

"My dear Evelyn," cried Mrs. Cavendish, "this can't be true!"

Miss Howard nodded grimly.

"True enough! Afraid I said some things to Emily she won't forget or
forgive in a hurry. Don't mind if they've only sunk in a bit. Probably
water off a duck's back, though. I said right out: 'You're an old woman,
Emily, and there's no fool like an old fool. The man's twenty years
younger than you, and don't you fool yourself as to what he married you
for. Money! Well, don't let him have too much of it. Farmer Raikes has
got a very pretty young wife. Just ask your Alfred how much time he
spends over there.' She was very angry. Natural! I went on, 'I'm going
to warn you, whether you like it