an to do?"

"I must tell Brian that I have betrayed his secret."

"Oh, he won't be very angry with you for that!" laughed Percival.

Dino shook his head. He was not so sure.

As soon as they had separated, Percival went off at a swinging pace for
a long walk. It was his usual way of getting rid of annoyance or
excitement; and he was vexed to find that he could not easily shake off
the effects that his conversation with Dino Vasari had produced upon his
mind. The unselfishness, the devotion, of this man--younger than
himself, with a brilliant future before him if only he chose to take
advantage of it--appealed powerfully to his imagination. He tried to
laugh at it: he called Dino hard names--"Quixotic fool," "dreamer," and
"enthusiast"--but he could not forget that an ideal of conduct had been
presented to his eyes, which was far higher than any which he should
have thought possible for himself, and by a man upon whose profession of
faith and calling he looked with profound contempt.

He tried to disbelieve the story that he had been told. He tried hard to
think that the man whom Elizabeth loved could not be Brian Luttrell. He
strove to convince himself that Elizabeth would be happier with him than
with the man she loved. Last of all he struggled desperately with the
conviction that it was his highest duty to tell her the whole story, set
her free, and let Brian marry her if he chose. With the respective
claims of Dino, Brian, and Elizabeth to the estate, he felt that he had
no need to interfere. They must settle it amongst themselves.

Of one thing he wanted to make sure. Was the tutor who had come with the
Herons from Italy indeed Brian Luttrell? How could he ascertain?

Chance favoured him, he thought. On the following morning he met Hugo
Luttrell in town, and accosted him with unusual eagerness.

"I've an odd question to ask you," he said, "but I have a strong reason
for it. You saw the tutor at Strathleckie when you were in Scotland?"

"Yes," said Hugo, looking at him restlessly out of his long, dark eyes.

"Had you any idea that Stretton was not his real name?"

Hugo paused before he replied.

"It is rather an odd question, certainly," he said, with a temporising
smile. "May I ask what you want to know for?"

"I was told that he came to the house under a feigned name: that's all."

"Who told you so?"

"Oh, a person who knew him."

"An Italian? A priest?"

Hugo was thinking of the possibility of F