y scowling at me on the other side of the table?
What's the matter with the child?"

"Never mind," murmured Priscilla hastily. "He doesn't mean anything.
Please go on."

He began to laugh at her with gentle ridicule.

"Impatient for the third act? Well, the scheme worked all right. But
it so chanced that the woman decided to be subtle, too. She knew him
for an old friend the instant she saw him. But he pretended to have
forgotten that old affair in New York. He didn't want her to feel in
any way under an obligation. So he played the humble stranger, and
she--sweetheart--she played the simple, country maiden, and she did it
to perfection. I think, you know, that she was a little afraid her name
and title would frighten him away."

"And so he humoured her?" said Priscilla, a slight quiver in her deep
voice.

"They humoured each other, sweetheart. That was where it began to be
funny. Now I am going to get you to tell me the rest of the story."

She turned towards him again, her face very pale.

"Yes; it's very funny, no doubt--funny for the man, I mean; for the
woman, I am not so sure. How does she know that he really cared for her
from the beginning; that he was always quite honest in his motive? How
can she possibly know this?"

Again for a moment their eyes met. There was no hint of dismay in the
man's brown face.

"She does know it, sweetheart," he answered, with confidence. "I can't
tell you how. Probably she couldn't, either. He was going to explain
everything, you know, under the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. But for
some reason it didn't come off. He spent three solid hours waiting for
her, but she didn't come. She had found him out, perhaps? And was
angry?"

"Perhaps," said Priscilla, her voice very low.

Again he raised his glass to his lips.

"We will have the end of the story presently," he said; and deliberately
turned to his left-hand neighbour.

XI

THE END OF THE STORY

A musical _soiree_ was to follow that interminable dinner, and for a
time Priscilla was occupied in helping Lady Raffold to receive the
after-dinner guests. She longed to escape before the contingent from the
dining-room arrived upstairs, but she soon realised the impossibility of
this. Her stepmother seemed to want her at every turn, and when at
length she found herself free, young Lord Harfield appeared at her
elbow.

It was intolerable. She turned upon him without pity.

"Oh, please," she said, "I've droppe