eyes? Since she was not angry,
what had she feared?

Maurice asked himself these questions vainly all the way home. Not a word
was spoken between them; they rode in absolute silence side by side until
they reached the house.

Then, as he lifted her off her horse at the hall-door, he whispered,

"Have you forgiven me?"

"There was nothing to forgive," she answered, in a low, strained voice.
She spoke wearily, as one who is suffering physical pain. But, as she
spoke, the hand that he still held seemed almost, to his fancy, to linger
for a second with a gentle fluttering pressure within his grasp.

Miss Nevill went into the house, having utterly forgotten that she had
sprained her wrist; a fact which proves indisputably, I suppose, that the
injury could not have been of a very serious nature.

CHAPTER XIII.

PEACOCK'S FEATHERS.

That practised falsehood under saintly show,
Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge.

Milton, "Paradise Lost."

Old Lady Kynaston arrived at Shadonake in the worst possible temper. Her
butler and factotum, who always made every arrangement for her when she
was about to travel, had for once been unequal to cope with Bradshaw;
he had looked out the wrong train, and had sent off his lady and her maid
half-an-hour too late from Walpole Lodge.

The consequence was that, instead of reaching Shadonake comfortably at
half-past six in the afternoon, Lady Kynaston had to wait for the next
train. She ate her dinner alone, in London, at the Midland Railway Hotel,
and never reached her destination till half-past nine on the night of the
ball.

Before she had half completed her toilette the guests were beginning to
arrive.

"I am afraid I must go down and receive these people, dear Lady
Kynaston," said Mrs. Miller, who had remained in her guest's room full
of regret and sympathy at the _contretemps_ of her journey.

"Oh, dear me! yes, Caroline--pray go down. I shall be all the quicker for
being left alone. Not _that_ cap, West; the one with the Spanish point,
of course. Dear me, how I do hate all this hurry and confusion!"

"I am so afraid you will be tired," murmured Mrs. Miller, soothingly.
"Would you like me to send Miss Nevill up to your room? It might be
pleasanter for you than to meet her downstairs."

"Good gracious, no!" exclaimed the elder lady, testily. "What on earth
should I be in such a hurry for! I shall see quite as much of her as I
want by-and-by, I have n