er with a smile, and led the way back to the other drawing-room. At
that moment the butler announced dinner; the party filed across the hall
to the fine old dining-room, and began finding their seats.

"I shall sit there, Val. You can take a chair at the side."

Val did look surprised at this. He was about to take the foot of his
brother's table, as usual; and there was the pea-green turban standing
over him, waiting to usurp it. It would have been quite beyond Val
Elster, in his sensitiveness, to tell her she should not have it; but he
did feel annoyed. He was sweet-tempered, however. Moreover, he was a
gentleman, and only waited to make one remark.

"I fear you will not like this place, ma'am. Won't it look odd to see a
lady at the bottom of the table?"

"I have promised my dear nephew to act as mistress, and to see after his
guests; and I don't choose to sit at the side under those circumstances."
But she had looked at Lord Hartledon, and hesitated before she spoke.
Perhaps she thought his lordship would resign the head of the table to
her, and take the foot himself. If so, she was mistaken.

"You will be more comfortable at the side, Lady Kirton," cried Lord
Hartledon, when he discovered what the bustle was about.

"Not at all, Hartledon; not at all."

"But I like my brother to face me, ma'am. It is his accustomed place."

Remonstrance was useless. The dowager nodded her pea-green turban, and
firmly seated herself. Val Elster dexterously found a seat next Lady
Maude; and a gay gleam of triumph shot out of his deep-blue eyes as he
glanced at the dowager. It was not the seat she would have wished him to
take; but to interfere again might have imperilled her own place. Maude
laughed. She did not care for Val--rather despised him in her heart; but
he was the most attractive man present, and she liked admiration.

Another link in the chain! For how many, many days and years, dating from
that evening, did that awful old woman take a seat, at intervals, at Lord
Hartledon's table, and assume it as a right!

CHAPTER V.

JEALOUSY.

The rain poured down on the Monday morning; and Lord Hartledon stood at
the window of the countess-dowager's sitting-room--one she had
unceremoniously adopted for her own private use--smoking a cigar, and
watching the clouds. Any cigar but his would have been consigned to the
other side the door. Mr. Elster had only shown (by mere accident) the
end of his cigar-case, and the do