on--make her think well of
me,--flatter me as much as you used to do when we fancied ourselves
terrifically in love with each other--(a good joke, wasn't it!)--and,
above all, make her _trust_ me! Do you understand?"

"As Red Riding-Hood trusted the Wolf and was eaten up for her
innocence," observed Lady Winsleigh. "Very well! I'll do my best. As I
said before, you want a character. I'm sure I hope you'll obtain the
situation you so much desire! I can state that you made yourself fairly
useful in your last place, and that you left because your wages were not
high enough!"

And with another sarcastic laugh, she moved forward towards the terrace
where Thelma stood. Sir Francis followed at some little distance with no
very pleasant expression on his features. A stealthy step approaching
him front behind made him start nervously--it was Louise Renaud, who,
carrying a silver tray on which soda-water bottles and glasses made an
agreeable clinking, tripped demurely past him without raising her eyes.
She came directly out of the rose-garden,--and, as she overtook her
mistress on the lawn, that lady seemed surprised, and asked--

"Where have you been, Louise?"

"Miladi was willing that I should assist in the attendance to-day,"
replied Louise discreetly. "I have waited upon Milord Winsleigh, and
other gentlemen in the summer-house at the end of the rose-garden."

And with one furtive glance of her black, bead-like eyes at Lady
Winsleigh's face, she made a respectful sort of half-curtsy and went her
way.

Later on in the afternoon, when it was nearing sunset, and all other
amusements had given way to the delight of dancing on the springy green
turf to the swinging music of the band,--Briggs, released for a time
from the duties of assisting the waiters at the splendid
refreshment-table (duties which were pleasantly lightened by the
drinking of a bottle of champagne which he was careful to reserve for
his own consumption), sauntered leisurely through the winding alleys and
fragrant shrubberies which led to the most unromantic portion of the
Manor grounds,--namely, the vegetable-garden. Here none of the
butterflies of fashion found their way,--the suggestions offered by
growing cabbages, turnips, beans, and plump, yellow-skinned marrows were
too prosaic for society bantams who require refined surroundings in
which to crow their assertive platitudes. Yet it was a peaceful
nook--and there were household odors of mint and thyme