quiet
satisfaction and turned to his companion. Miss St. Quentin sat round in
her chair, presenting her long, slender, dust-coloured lace-and-silk-clad
person in profile to the passers-by, and so tilting her parasol as to
defy recognition. The expression of her pale face and singular eyes was
far from encouraging.

"Indeed--and why?" Ludovic permitted himself to remark, in tones of
polite inquiry. "I had been led to believe that you and Lady Calmady
were on terms of rather warm friendship."

"We are," Honoria answered, "that is, at Brockhurst."

"Forgive my indiscretion--but why not in London?"

The young lady looked full at him.

"Mr. Quayle," she asked, "is it true that you are responsible for this
new departure of theirs, for their coming up, I mean?"

"Responsible? You do me too great an honour. Who am I that I should
direct the action of my brother man? But Lady Calmady is good enough to
trust me a little, and I own that I advocated a modification of the
existing _regime_."--Ludovic crossed his long legs and fell to nursing
one knee. "It is not breach of confidence to tell you--since you know
the fact already--that fate decreed an alien element should obtrude
itself into the situation at Brockhurst last autumn. I need name no
names, I think?"

Honoria's head was raised. She regarded him steadfastly, but made no
sign.

"Ah! I need not name names," he repeated; "I thought not. Well, after
the alien element removed itself--the two facts may have no
connection--Lady Calmady very certainly never implied that they
had--but, as I remarked, after the alien element removed itself, it was
observable that our poor, dear Dickie Calmady became a trifle
difficult, a trifle distrait, in plain English most remarkably grumpy,
and far from delightful to live with. And his mother----"

"It's too bad, altogether too bad!" broke out Honoria hotly.

"Too bad of whom?" Mr. Quayle asked, with the utmost suavity. "Of the
nameless, obtrusive, alien element, or of poor, dear Dick?"

The young lady closed her parasol slowly, and turning, faced the
sauntering crowd again.

"Of Sir Richard Calmady, of course," she said.

Her companion did not answer immediately. His eyes pursued a receding
carriage far down the string, amid the gaily shifting sunshine and
shadow, and the fluttering lace and gray feathers of a woman's bonnet.
When he spoke, at last, it was with an unusual trace of feeling.

"After all, you know, there are a goo