d. "I was only at
college then, but I remember what a fuss there was in all the papers when
he resigned his seat."

"What did they say was the reason?" she asked, eagerly.

"A slight disagreement with Lord Rochester, and ill-health."

"Absurd!" she exclaimed. "Uncle is as strong as a horse."

"Would you like him," he asked, "to go back into political life?"

Her eyes sparkled.

"Of course I should."

"You may have your wish," he said, a little sadly. "I don't fancy he has
been quite the same man since Sir Leslie Borrowdean was here, and Mrs.
Handsell never leaves him alone for a moment."

She laughed.

"You talk as though they were conspirators!" she exclaimed.

"That is precisely what I believe them to be," he answered, grimly.

"Richard!"

"Can't help it," he declared. "I will tell you something that I have no
right to tell you. Mrs. Handsell is not your friend's real name."

"Richard, how exciting!" she exclaimed. "Do tell me how you know."

"Her solicitors told mine so when she took the farm."

"Not her real name? But--I wonder they let it to her."

"Oh, her references were all right," he answered. "My people saw to that.
I do not mean to insinuate for a moment that she had any improper reasons
for calling herself Mrs. Handsell, or anything else she liked. The
explanations given were quite satisfactory. But she has become very
friendly with you and with your uncle, and I think that she ought to have
told you both about it."

"Do you know her real name?"

"No! It is not my affair. My solicitors knew, and they were satisfied.
Perhaps I ought not to have told you this, but--"

"Hush!" she said. "They are coming out. If you like you can take me down
to the orchard wall, and we will watch the tide come in--"

Mannering came out alone and looked around. The full moon was creeping
into the sky. The breath of wind which shook the leaves of the tall elm
trees that shut in his little demesne from the village, was soft, and,
for the time of year, wonderfully mild. Below, through the orchard trees,
were faint visions of the marshland, riven with creeks of silvery sea. He
turned back towards the room, where red-shaded lamps still stood upon the
white tablecloth, a curiously artificial daub of color after the
splendour of the moonlit land.

"The night is perfect," he exclaimed. "Do you need a wrap, or are you
sufficiently acclimatized?"

She came out to him, tall and slender in her black dinner gown, th