uch." So Kingston--_alias_ Mary
Trent--took her needlework, and seated herself by the library window,
whence the half-drawn curtains between library and drawing-room afforded
her a complete view of all visitors to Miss Lesley.

Oliver Trent was distinctly annoyed by this proceeding, but Lesley,
although puzzled, was equally well pleased. It was an arrangement all
the more displeasing to Oliver because the waiting-woman who sat so
demurely in the library, within earshot of all that he chose to say, was
his brother's wife. He felt sure that she had contrived it all; that she
was there simply to act as a spy upon his actions. Francis wanted that
money, and would not get it until he married Miss Kenyon; and was
evidently afraid--from information conveyed to him by Kingston--that he
was going to break off his engagement. Oliver flew into a silent rage at
the thought of this combination, which he was nevertheless powerless to
prevent. He went away early that afternoon, and came again next day.
Kingston was there also with her work. And though he sang and played the
piano as usual with Lesley, although he chatted and laughed and had tea
with her as usual, he felt Kingston's presence a restraint And for the
first time he asked himself, seriously, why this should be.

"Why, of course," he said to himself, "I promised Rosalind to make love
to her. And I can't make love to her when that woman's there. Curse her!
she spoils my plans."

He had shut himself up in the luxurious little smoking-room which Mrs.
Romaine had arranged for him. She knew the value of a room in which a
man feels himself at liberty to do what he likes. She never came there
without especial invitation: she always said that she preferred seeing
her brother in her own drawing-room--that she was not like Miss Brooke,
and did _not_ smoke cigarettes. But that was one of the little ways in
which Rosalind used to emphasize the difference between herself and the
women whom she did not love.

At any rate, Oliver was alone. The curtains were drawn, the lamp was
lighted, a bright fire burned in the grate. He had drawn up a
softly-cushioned lounging chair to the fire, and was peacefully smoking
a remarkably good cigar.

But his frame of mind was anything but peaceful. He had been troubled
for some days, and he did not know what troubled him. He was now
beginning to find out.

"What are my plans, I wonder?" he reflected. "To make Lesley fall in
love with me?--I wish I