be at least forty," interposed Herrick mildly.

Audrey frowned him into silence and continued--

"Now that's so dull, when half Monkshaven believes him to be a villain
of the deepest dye, hiding from justice--or, possibly, a Bluebeard with
an unhappy wife imprisoned somewhere in that weird old house of his."

Sara listened with undignified interest. It was strange how the
enigmatical personality of the owner of Far End kept cropping up across
her path.

"And what is your own opinion, Mrs. Maynard?" she asked.

Audrey flashed her a keen glance from her rain-clear eyes.

"I think he's a--sphinx," she said slowly.

"The Sphinx was a lady," objected Herrick pertinently.

"Mr. Trent's a masculine re-incarnation of her, then," retorted Mrs.
Maynard, undefeated.

Herrick smiled tolerantly. He was a tall, slenderly built man, with
whimsical brown eyes and the half-stern, half-sweet mouth of one who has
been through the mill of physical pain.

"_Homme incompris_," he suggested lightly. "Give the fellow his due--he
at least supplies the feminine half of Monkshaven with a topic of
perennial interest."

Audrey took up the implied challenge with enthusiasm, and the two of
them wrangled comfortably together till tea was over. Then she demanded
a cigarette--and another cushion--and finally sent Miles in search of
some snapshots they had taken together and which he had developed since
last they had met. She treated him exactly as though he suffered no
handicap, demanding from him all the little services she would have
asked from a man who was physically perfect.

Sara herself, accustomed to anticipating every need of Patrick Lovell's,
would have been inclined to feel somewhat compunctious over allowing a
lame man to wait upon her, yet, as she watched the eager way in which
Miles responded to the visitor's behests, she realized that in reality
Audrey was behaving with supreme tact. She let Miles feel himself a man
as other men, not a mere "lame duck" to whom indulgence must needs be
granted.

And once, when her hair just brushed his cheek, as he stooped over her
to indicate some special point in one of the recently developed photos,
Sara surprised a sudden ardent light in his quiet brown eyes that set
her wondering whether possibly, the incessant sparring between Herrick
and the lively, impulsive woman who shocked half Monkshaven, did not
conceal something deeper than mere friendship.

CHAPTER VIII

THE UNWILLING