ne signed by herself; the other signed by Geoffrey--and
both suggestive, to a stranger's eye, of relations between the writers
which they were interested in concealing from the public view.

Thinking it just possible--if he kept his eyes and ears well open at
Swanhaven--that he might improve his prospect of making a marketable
commodity of the stolen correspondence, Mr. Bishopriggs had put the
letter in his pocket when he left Kirkandrew. He had recognized Blanche,
as a friend of the lady at the inn--and as a person who might perhaps be
turned to account, in that capacity. And he had, moreover, heard every
word of the conversation between Lady Lundie and Mrs. Delamayn on the
subject of Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm. There were hours to be passed
before the guests would retire, and before the waiters would be
dismissed. The conviction was strong in the mind of Mr. Bishopriggs that
he might find good reason yet for congratulating himself on the chance
which had associated him with the festivities at Swanhaven Lodge.

It was still early in the afternoon when the gayety at the dinner-table
began, in certain quarters, to show signs of wearing out.

The younger members of the party--especially the ladies--grew restless
with the appearance of the dessert. One after another they looked
longingly at the smooth level of elastic turf in the middle of the
glade. One after another they beat time absently with their fingers
to the waltz which the musicians happened to be playing at the moment.
Noticing these symptoms, Mrs. Delamayn set the example of rising; and
her husband sent a message to the band. In ten minutes more the
first quadrille was in progress on the grass; the spectators were
picturesquely grouped round, looking on; and the servants and waiters,
no longer wanted, had retired out of sight, to a picnic of their own.

The last person to leave the deserted tables was the venerable
Bishopriggs. He alone, of the men in attendance, had contrived to
combine a sufficient appearance of waiting on the company with a
clandestine attention to his own personal need of refreshment. Instead
of hurrying away to the servants' dinner with the rest, he made the
round of the tables, apparently clearing away the crumbs--actually,
emptying the wine-glasses. Immersed in this occupation, he was startled
by a lady's voice behind him, and, turning as quickly as he could, found
himself face to face with Miss Lundie.

"I want some cold water," said