, and afterwards at
Stockholm, but after his death her mother had married Sir Hugh, and had
become Lady Elcombe. Nowadays, however, the latter was somewhat of an
invalid, and seldom left their London house in Hill Street. Therefore,
Enid was usually chaperoned by Mrs. Caldwell, wife of the well-known
K.C., and with her she generally spent her winters on the Continent.

Blanche, Sir Hugh's daughter by his first wife, had married Paul Le
Pontois, who had been a captain in the 114th Regiment of Artillery of the
French Army during the war, and lived with her husband in France. She
seldom came to England, though at frequent intervals her father went over
to visit her.

When Walter Fetherston took his seat beside Enid Orlebar at the luncheon
table a flood of strange recollections crowded upon his mind--those walks
along the Miramar, that excursion to Pampeluna, and those curious facts
which she had unwittingly revealed to him in the course of their
confidential chats. He remembered their leave-taking, and how, as he had
sat in the _rapide_ for Paris, he had made a solemn vow never again to
set eyes upon her.

There was a reason why he should not--a strong but mysterious reason.

Yet he had come there of his own will to meet her again--drawn there
irresistibly by some unseen influence which she possessed.

Was it her beauty that had attracted him? Yes--he was compelled to admit
that it was. As a rule he avoided the society of women. To his intimates
he had laid down the maxim: "Don't marry; keep a dog if you want a
faithful companion." And yet he was once again at the side of this
fair-faced woman.

None around the table were aware of their previous meeting, and all were
too busy chattering to notice the covert glances which he shot at her. He
was noting her great beauty, sitting there entranced by it--he, the man
of double personality, who, under an assumed name, lived that gay life of
the Continent, known in society in twenty different cities, and yet in
England practically unknown in his real self.

Yes, Enid Orlebar was beautiful. Surely there could be few fairer women
than she in this our land of fair women!

Turning upon him, she smiled gaily as she asked whether he had been
interested in seeing a mountain battery at work.

Her fresh face, betraying, as it did, her love of a free, open-air life,
was one of those strangely mysterious countenances met only once in a
lifetime. It seemed to be the quintessence of p