house; but what is going to HAPPEN
in the house?"

She was looking at him quietly, but with very bright eyes,
and seemed to be searching for some form of words which she
could not find.

Before she could speak the door burst open, and the boisterous Rosamund Hunt,
in her flamboyant white hat, boa, and parasol, stood framed in the doorway.
She was in a breathing heat, and on her open face was an expression of
the most infantile astonishment.

"Well, here's a fine game!" she said, panting. "What am I to do now,
I wonder? I've wired for Dr. Warner; that's all I can think of doing."

"What is the matter?" asked Diana, rather sharply, but moving
forward like one used to be called upon for assistance.

"It's Mary," said the heiress, "my companion Mary Gray:
that cracked friend of yours called Smith has proposed to her
in the garden, after ten hours' acquaintance, and he wants
to go off with her now for a special licence."

Arthur Inglewood walked to the open French windows and looked
out on the garden, still golden with evening light.
Nothing moved there but a bird or two hopping and twittering;
but beyond the hedge and railings, in the road outside
the garden gate, a hansom cab was waiting, with the yellow
Gladstone bag on top of it.

Chapter IV

The Garden of the God

Diana Duke seemed inexplicably irritated at the abrupt entrance
and utterance of the other girl.

"Well," she said shortly, "I suppose Miss Gray can decline him if she
doesn't want to marry him."

"But she DOES want to marry him!" cried Rosamund in exasperation.
"She's a wild, wicked fool, and I won't be parted from her."

"Perhaps," said Diana icily, "but I really don't see what we can do."

"But the man's balmy, Diana," reasoned her friend angrily.
"I can't let my nice governess marry a man that's balmy!
You or somebody MUST stop it!--Mr. Inglewood, you're a man;
go and tell them they simply can't."

"Unfortunately, it seems to me they simply can," said Inglewood,
with a depressed air. "I have far less right of intervention
than Miss Duke, besides having, of course, far less moral
force than she."

"You haven't either of you got much," cried Rosamund,
the last stays of her formidable temper giving way;
"I think I'll go somewhere else for a little sense and pluck.
I think I know some one who will help me more than you do,
at any rate... he's a cantankerous beast, but he's a man,
a