es not like
to be kept waiting."

"What a nice woman!" said Chester heartily, "and how lucky you are,
Sylvia, to have made her acquaintance in such a queer place as this. But
I suppose you have got to know quite a number of people in the hotel?"

"Well, no--," she stopped abruptly. She certainly had come to know the
Comte de Virieu, but he was the exception, not the rule.

"You see, Bill, Lacville is the sort of place where everyone thinks
everyone else rather queer! I fancy some of the ladies here--they are
mostly foreigners, Russians, and Germans--think it very odd that I should
be by myself in such a place."

She spoke without thinking--in fact she uttered her thoughts aloud.

"Then you admit that it _is_ rather a queer place for you to be staying
in by yourself," he said slowly.

"No, I don't!" she protested eagerly. "But don't let's talk of
disagreeable things--I'm going to take you such a splendid drive!"

* * * * *

Chester never forgot that first day of his at Lacville. It was by far the
pleasantest day he spent there, and Sylvia Bailey, woman-like, managed
entirely to conceal from him that she was not as pleased with their
expedition as was her companion.

Thanks to M. Polperro's good offices, they managed to hire a really good
motor; and once clear of the fantastic little houses and the waste ground
which was all up for sale, how old-world and beautiful were the little
hamlets, the remote stretches of woodland and the quiet country towns
through which they sped!

On their way back, something said by Sylvia surprised and disturbed
Chester very much. She had meant to conceal the fact that she was riding
with Paul de Virieu each morning, but it is very difficult for one
accustomed always to tell the truth to use deceit. And suddenly a
careless word revealed to Chester that the horsewoman whose voice had
sounded so oddly familiar to him in the Forest that morning had really
been Sylvia herself!

He turned on her quickly: "Then do you ride every morning with this
Frenchman?" he asked quietly.

"Almost every morning," she answered. "His sister lent me a horse and a
riding habit. It was very kind of her," she raised her voice, and blushed
deeply in the rushing wind.

Chester felt his mind suddenly fill with angry suspicion. Was it possible
that this Comte de Virieu, this man of whom that nice Madame Wachner had
spoken with such scorn as a confirmed gambler, was "making u