about _us_--the landlords. Edward says one ought never
to believe them. Ah, here comes Aldous."

Aldous, indeed, with some perplexity on his brow, was to be seen
approaching, looking for his betrothed. Marcella dropped her fan and sat
erect, her angry colour fading into whiteness.

"My darling! I couldn't think what had become of you. May I bring Lord
Wandle and introduce him to you? He is an old friend here, and my
godfather. Not that I am particularly proud of the relationship," he
said, dropping his voice as he stooped over her. "He is a soured,
disagreeable fellow, and I hate many of the things he does. But it is an
old tie, and my grandfather is tender of such things. Only a word or
two; then I will get rid of him."

"Aldous, I _can't_," said Marcella, looking up at him. "How could I? I
saw that case. I must be rude to him."

Aldous looked considerably disturbed.

"It was very bad," he said slowly. "I didn't know you had seen it. What
shall I do? I promised to go back for him."

"Lord Wandle--Miss Boyce!" said Miss Raeburn's sharp little voice behind
Aldous. Aldous, moving aside in hasty dismay, saw his aunt, looking very
determined, presenting her tall neighbour, who bowed with old-fashioned
deference to the girl on the sofa.

Lady Winterbourne looked with trepidation at Marcella. But the social
instinct held, to some extent. Ninety-nine women can threaten a scene of
the kind Lady Winterbourne dreaded, for one that can carry it through.
Marcella wavered; then, with her most forbidding air, she made a
scarcely perceptible return of Lord Wandle's bow.

"Did you escape in here out of the heat?" he asked her. "But I am afraid
no one lets you escape to-night. The occasion is too interesting."

Marcella made no reply. Lady Winterbourne threw in a nervous remark on
the crowd.

"Oh, yes, a great crush," said Lord Wandle. "Of course, we all come to
see Aldous happy. How long is it, Miss Boyce, since you settled at
Mellor?"

"Six months."

She looked straight before her and not at him as she answered, and her
tone made Miss Raeburn's blood boil.

Lord Wandle--a battered, coarsened, but still magnificent-looking man of
sixty--examined the speaker an instant from half-shut eyes, then put up
his hand to his moustache with a half-smile.

"You like the country?"

"Yes."

As she spoke her reluctant monosyllable, the girl had really no
conception of the degree of hostility expressed in her manner. Instead
she