call it a "deep-laid plan," because I'd laid it on no firmer
foundation than the spur of the moment; but I was wildly excited about
it. Fully armoured like Minerva it had leapt into my brain while I said
to myself, "What _if_----?"

Joyce 'phoned to the garage where I hired cars occasionally, and ordered
something to come at ten o'clock next morning. For me to take this joy
ride meant throwing over a whole day's engagements like so many
ninepins. But I didn't care a rap!

I could see when I was ready to start that Joyce was even more excited
than I. No doubt she was thinking that, when I came back, I might bring
news of _him_. We spoke, however, only of the duchess.

To me, a harmless, necessary fib isn't much more vicious than a cat of
the same description; that is, if the fib is for the benefit of a
friend. But I'd rather tell the truth if it can be managed, so I really
intended to call on the Duchess. The village of Stanerton--on the
outskirts of which Lorillard lived--happened to be on my way to
Pergolas. I couldn't help _that_, could I? So I told my chauffeur to ask
for River Orchard Cottage--the address on Robert's note introducing Miss
Arnold.

Everyone seemed to know the place. It was half a mile out of the
village, and you went to it up a side road: a very old cottage altered
and modernized. The name was old, too: it really was an orchard, and it
was really on the river. That was what half a dozen people informed us
in a breath, and they would have added much information about Lorillard
himself if I'd cared to hear. But all I wanted to learn about him from
them was whether he had gone away. He hadn't. He had been seen out
walking the day before.

"I _told_ you so!" I said to myself.

As the car slowed down and stopped before a white gate I seemed to lose
my identity for a moment. It became merged with that of Joyce Arnold. I
felt as if she--the _real_ Joyce--had raced here in some winged vehicle
of thousand-spirit power, travelling far faster than any road-bound
earthly car, and, having waited for me, now slipped into my skin.

The sight of that gate made my heart beat as it must have made hers beat
every day when she came in the morning to work. Yes! As I laid my hand
on the latch I wasn't my somewhat blasee and sophisticated self: I was
the girl to whom this place was Paradise.

The white gate was flanked by two tall clipped yews. Inside, a wide path
of irregular paving-stones, with grass and flower