heightened colour, even while telling herself that it was absurd to feel
any embarrassment in his presence.

He was waiting for her on his favourite perch, the music-stool, swinging
idly to and fro, with his customary serenity of demeanour. He moved to
meet her with a quiet smile of welcome. A piece of strapping-plaster
across his left temple was all that remained of his recent
disfigurement.

"I hope my visit is not premature," he remarked as he shook hands.

"Oh, no!" she answered somewhat nervously. "I expected you. Please sit
down."

He subsided again upon the music-stool, and there followed a silence
which she found peculiarly disconcerting.

"You have been thinking over my suggestion?" he drawled at length.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I have." She paused a moment, then, "I--am afraid
it wouldn't answer," she said, with an effort, "though I am very
grateful to you for thinking of it. You see, there are so many
obstacles."

"But not insurmountable, any of them," smiled Lord Ronald.

"I am afraid so," she said.

He looked at her.

"May I not hear what they are?"

She hesitated.

"For one thing, you know," she said, "one pays one's servants."

"Well, but you can pay me," he said simply. "I shall not ask very high
wages. I am easily satisfied. I shouldn't call that an obstacle."

She laughed a little.

"But that isn't all. There is the danger of being found out. It--it
would make it rather awkward, wouldn't it? People would talk."

"No one ever talks scandal of me," said Lord Ronald comfortably. "I am
considered eccentric, but quite incapable of anything serious. I don't
think you need be afraid. There really isn't the smallest danger of my
being discovered, and even if I were, I could tell the truth, you know.
People always believe what I say."

She smiled involuntarily at his simplicity, but she shook her head.

"It really wouldn't do," she said.

"What! More obstacles?" he asked.

"Yes, one--the greatest of all, in my opinion." She got up and moved
across the room, he pivoting slowly round to watch her.

She came to a stand by her writing-table, and began to turn over a
packet of letters that lay there. She did it mechanically, with hands
that shook a little. Her face was turned away from him.

He waited for a few seconds; then, as she still remained silent, he
spoke.

"What is this last obstacle, Mrs. Denvers?"

She answered him with her head bent, her fingers still fluttering the
paper