y the same
ever since; it's done like it now!"

"Something must have upset me, for it looks perfectly ripping," said
the duke with warm conviction.

The duchess felt herself blushing under his admiring eyes, and disliked
herself very much for doing so.

She rose hastily and said:

"I think I'll go into the garden."

This time the duke let her go. He finished his cigar before he
followed her. He found her walking up and down the cedar lawn; and
when the moonlight fell on her face, he saw that it was troubled.

He fell into step beside her and said with enthusiasm:

"It's a ripping night."

She said nothing; and they crossed the lawn and turned.

He said, again with enthusiasm:

"I do like this lawn. I first kissed you under that old tree."

The duchess started to leave the lawn with some speed.

The duke kept pace with her.

Half-way across the lawn he said in an affectionate tone:

"There's no need for you to fret about Marion, old girl. You can
arrange it just as you like."

Then deftly, he slipped his arm round her waist.

"How dare you, Archie?" she cried, and made to thrust him away with
some vigour.

It was not enough vigour. The duke's arm did not slip; indeed he
tightened his clasp as he said:

"I could do much better with a complete family--a wife and a daughter."

"After the way you've behaved!" cried the duchess.

"Oh, well, one doesn't always behave the same. One changes," said the
duke.

Three days later Pollyooly and Ronald stood by a gate at the end of the
home wood, awaiting the coming of the motor car, in which the
Honourable John Ruffin was bringing the real Lady Marion Ricksborough
to slip quietly into the place which Pollyooly had occupied with such
signal success. The Lump, in the care of Emily Gibbs, was already
speeding in the train to London, to be met at Waterloo and conveyed to
the Temple by Mrs. Brown.

Ronald looked gloomy; and an air of sadness marred Pollyooly's serenity.

"It's perfectly rotten your going off like this--before we've done half
the things we were going to. Why on earth couldn't uncle have waited
till the end of the holidays to make the change?" said Ronald in a
bitterly aggrieved tone.

"Well, you'll have Marion to go about with you," said Pollyooly.

"Nothing doing!" snapped Ronald.

His vehemence pleased her.

"It's a pity," she said sadly. "It's been splendid; and I'm awfully
sorry to have to go."

Then her face cleared and