on was always a delightful mixture of irresponsible
vagueness and firm conviction.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you see he is only out on--what do they call it?--I mean he has
had to give his word that he won't run away--or something. I heard
Herbert say something about that at lunch--oh! what lovely tulips! I
dote on that rich coppery red, don't you?"

"Then does he go about in Black Maria escorted by a policeman?"

"Probably."

This somewhat more vaguely, for the surmise was doubtful.

"I can't understand Louisa Harris, can you?"

"Oh, she thinks it's unconventional to go about with a murderer. She
only does it for notoriety."

But the Countess of Flintshire, who wrote novels and plays under the
elegant _nom de plume_ of Maria Annunziata, was deeply interested in
Luke and Louisa, and stopped to talk to them for quite a considerable
time. She said she wanted "to draw Luke de Mountford out." So
interesting to get the impressions of an actual murderer, you know.

The men felt uncomfortable. Englishmen always do when the
unconventional hovers about in their neatly ordered atmosphere.
Common-sense--in their case--whispered loudly, inking that this man in
the Sackville Street clothes, member of their own clubs, by Jove!
could not just be a murderer! Hang it all! Harris would not allow his
daughter to go about with a murderer!

So they raised their hats as they passed by Louisa Harris and said,
"Hello! How de do?" to Luke quite with a genial smile.

But Luke and Louisa allowed all this world to wag on its own
irresponsible way. They were not fools, they knew their _milieu_. They
guessed all that was being said around them and all that remained
unspoken. They had come here purposely in order to see and to be seen,
to be gossiped about, to play their role of puppet before their world
as long as life lasted, and whilst Chance and Circumstance still chose
to hold up the edifice of their own position of their consideration,
mayhap of their honour.

The question of the crime had not been mooted between them again:
after the understanding, the look from her to him, and his humble
gratitude on his knees, they had left the mystery severely alone. He
had nothing to say, and she would never question, content that she
would know in good time; that one day she would understand what was so
un-understandable just now.

Colonel Harris alone was prostrated with trouble. Not that he doubted
Luke, but like all sober-sensed Engl