ide by side with Lady Penelope.

"How's your little friend?" she asked abruptly. "I suppose you know my
cousin's playin' round?"

Jan was a little taller than Lady Pen, and turned her head slowly to
look at her: "I'm afraid I don't quite understand," she said.

"Surely," Lady Pen retorted, "you must have seen."

"If you mean that Captain Middleton admires Miss Morton, I believe he
does. But you see, to say that anyone is 'playing round' rather reflects
on me, because she is in my charge."

"I should say you've got a pretty good handful," Lady Pen said
sympathetically.

"I don't think you quite understand Miss Morton. I've known her, as it
happens, known her well, for close upon nine years."

"And you think well of her?"

"It would be difficult to express how well."

"You're a good friend, Miss Ross. I had occasion to think so once
before--now I'm pretty sure of it. What's the sayin'--'Time tryeth
thingummy'?"

"Troth?" Jan suggested.

"That's it. 'Time tryeth troth.' I never was any good at quotations and
things. But now, look here, I'd like to ask you somethin' rather
particular ..." Lady Pen took Jan's arm and propelled her gently down a
side-walk out of earshot of the others. "Suppose you knew folks--and
they weren't exactly friends, but pleasant, you know, and all that, and
you were aware that they went about sayin' things about a third person
who also wasn't exactly a friend, but ... well, likeable; and you
believed that what the first lot said gave a wrong impression ... in
short, was very damaging--none of it any business of yours, mind--would
you feel called upon to do anything?"

The two tall women stopped and faced one another.

The moon shone full on Lady Pen's beautiful painted face, and Jan saw,
for the first time, that the eyes under the delicately darkened eyebrows
were curiously like Miles'.

"It's always tiresome to interfere in other people's business," said
Jan, "but it's not quite fair, is it, not to stand up for people if you
believe an accusation to be untrue--whether you like them or not. You
see, it may be such a serious thing for the person implicated."

"I believe you're right," said Lady Pen, "but oh, lord! what a worry it
will be."

Lady Mary called to them to come, for the bride was going to sing.

The bride's singing was not particularly pleasing, and she was followed
by Miles, who performed "Drake's Drum," to his aunt's rather uncertain
accompaniment, in a voice that