in Antony shrugged his shoulders.

The Duchessa's face was white.

"Why did you pretend to be other than you were?" she demanded.

Antony was silent.

"I suppose," she said slowly, "that, for all your talk of friendship, you
did not trust me sufficiently. You did not trust my friendship had I
known, and therefore you deliberately deceived me all the time."

Still Antony was silent.

"You really meant to deceive me?" There was an odd note of appeal in her
voice.

"If you like to call it that," replied Antony steadily.

"What else can I call it?" she flashed.

There was a long silence.

"I should be grateful if you would not mention having known me as Antony
Gray," said Antony suddenly.

"I certainly do not intend to refer to that unfortunate episode again,"
she replied icily. "As far as I am concerned it will be blotted from my
memory as completely as I can wipe out so disagreeable an incident. Will
you, please, take your hand off my trap."

Antony withdrew his hand as if the trap had stung him.

The Duchessa touched the pony with her whip, Antony stood looking after
them. When, once more, the moorland was deserted, he sat down again on
the heather.

Josephus, returning from a rabbit hunt more than an hour later, found him
still there in the same position. Disturbed by something queer in his
deity's mood, he thrust a wet black nose into his hand.

The touch roused Antony. He looked up, half dazed. Then he saw Josephus.

"I've done it now, old man," he said. And there was a queer little catch
in his voice.

CHAPTER XVII

AT THE MANOR HOUSE

The Duchessa di Donatello was sitting at dinner. Silver and roses gleamed
on the white damask of the table-cloth. The French windows stood wide
open, letting in the soft air of the warm June evening. Through the
windows she could see the lawn surrounded by elms, limes, and walnut
trees. The sun was slanting low behind them, throwing long blue shadows
on the grass. A thrush sang in one of the elm trees, a brown songster
carolling his vespers from a topmost branch.

At the other end of the table sat a kindly-faced middle-aged woman, in a
grey dress and a lace fichu fastened with a large cameo brooch. She was
Miss Esther Tibbutt, the Duchessa's present companion, and one-time
governess. Now and then she looked across the table towards the Duchessa,
with a little hint of anxiety in her eyes, but her conversation was as
brisk and unflagging as usual.

"I