ed John on the way home what he thought," goes on Letitia, with
an evident interest in her tale, "and he quite agrees with me that it
was rouge, or, at all events, something artificial."

"One more word, Letitia,"--faintly,--"a last one. Has he had that sole
remaining tooth in the front of his mouth made steady?"

"No," cries Mrs. Massereene, triumphantly, "he has not. Do you too
remember that awful tooth? It is literally the only thing left undone,
and I can't imagine why. It still waggles uncomfortably when he talks,
and his upper lip has the same old trick of catching on it and refusing
to come down again until compelled. Sir John was there, and took me in
to luncheon; and as I sat just opposite Lord Rossmere I could see
distinctly. I particularly noticed that."

"You have saved me," cries Molly, briskly. "Had your answer been other
than it was, I would not have hesitated for a moment: I would have gone
off into a death-like swoon. Thank you, Jane,"--with a backward nod at
Luttrell, whom she has refused to recognize: "I need not detain you any
longer."

"Mrs. Massereene, I shall never forgive you," says Luttrell.

"And is this the way you entertain your guests, Molly?" asks Letitia.
"Have you spent your day in the kitchen?"

"The society of the 'upper ten' is not good for you, Letitia," says
Molly, severely. "There is a faint flavor of would-be sarcasm about
you, and it doesn't suit you in the least: your lips have not got the
correct curve. No, my dear: although unnoticed by the nobility of our
land, we, too, have had our 'nice, long, happy day in the country.'
Haven't we, Mr. Luttrell?"

"Do you think he would dare say 'No' with _your_ eyes upon him?"
says Letitia, laughing. "By and by I shall hear the truth. Come with
me"--to Tedcastle--"and have a glass of sherry before your dinner: I am
sure you must want it, after all you have gone through."

CHAPTER V.

"Gather the roses while ye may;
Old time is still a-flying;
And the same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."

--Herrick.

It is four o'clock, and a hush, a great stillness, born of oppressive
heat, is over all the land. Again the sun is smiting with hot wrath the
unoffending earth; the flowers nod drowsily or lie half dead of
languor, their gay leaves touching the ground.

"The sky was blue as the summer sea,
The depths were cloudless overhead;
The air was calm as it could be;