. "There is no
opening at that side whatever. It is all blocked by the wicked La Sarthe
Chase."

"I came round the edge," he said, and felt annoyed--he hated lying--"and
then turned upwards. I wanted to see the boundaries."

"I hate boundaries," she laughed. "I always want to overstep them."

"There is the chance of being caught in snares."

"Which adds to the excitement," and she allowed her radiant eyes to seek
his with a challenge.

He was not slow to take it up.

"Enchantress," he whispered softly, "it is you whose charm lays snares
for men. You have no fear of falling into them yourself."

She rippled a low laugh of satisfaction. And, having tamed her lion, she
now suggested it was time to go in to luncheon.

CHAPTER XII

Arabella Clinker took Sunday afternoons generally to write a long letter
to her mother, and Good Friday seemed almost a Sunday, so she went up to
her room from force of habit. But first she looked up some facts in the
countless books of reference she kept always by her. Mrs. Cricklander
had skated over some very thin ice at luncheon upon a classical subject,
when talking to the distinguished Mr. Derringham, and she must be warned
and primed up before dinner. Arabella had herself averted a catastrophe
and dexterously turned the conversation in the nick of time. Mrs.
Cricklander had a peculiarly unclassical brain, and found learning
statistics about ancient philosophies and the names of mythological
personages the most difficult of all. Fortunately in these days, even
among the most polished, this special branch of cultivation was rather
old-fashioned, Miss Clinker reflected, but still, as Mr. Derringham
seemed determined to wander along this line (Arabella had unconsciously
appropriated some apt Americanisms during her three years of bondage),
she must be loyal and not allow her employer to commit any blunders. So
she got her facts crystallized, or "tabloided," as Mrs. Cricklander
would mentally have characterized the process, and then she began her
letter to her parent. Mrs. Clinker, an Irishwoman and the widow of a
learned Dean, understood a number of things, and was clear-headed and
humorous, for all her seventy years, and these passages in her
daughter's letter amused her.

We are entertaining a number of distinguished visitors, and among
them Mr. John Derringham, the Under Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs. He is a most interesting personality, as perfectly