hat done, he followed his lordship
and Hortensia within doors.

From the inner hall a footman ushered him across an ante-chamber to
a room on the right, which proved to be the library, and was his
lordship's habitual retreat. It was a spacious, pillared chamber, very
richly panelled in damask silk, and very richly furnished, having long
French windows that opened on a terrace above the garden.

As they entered there came a swift rustle of petticoats at their heels,
and Mr. Caryll stood aside, bowing, to give passage to a tall lady who
swept by with no more regard for him than had he been one of the
house's lackeys. She was, he observed, of middle-age, lean and
aquiline-featured, with an exaggerated chin, that ended squarely as
boot. Her sallow cheeks were raddled to a hectic color, a monstrous
head-dress--like that of some horse in a lord mayor's show--coiffed
her, and her dress was a mixture of extravagance and incongruity, the
petticoat absurdly hooped.

She swept into the room like a battleship into action, and let fly her
first broadside at Mistress Winthrop from the threshold.

"Codso!" she shrilled. "You have come back! And for what have you come
back? Am I to live in the same house with you, you shameless madam--that
have no more thought for your reputation than a slut in a smock-race?"

Hortensia raised indignant eyes from out of a face that was very pale.
Her lips were tightly pressed--in resolution, thought Mr. Caryll, who
was very observant of her--not to answer her ladyship; for Mr. Caryll
had little doubt as to the identity of this dragon.

"My love--my dear--" began his lordship, advancing a step, his tone a
very salve. Then, seeking to create a diversion, he waved a hand towards
Mr. Caryll. "Let me present--"

"Did I speak to you?" she turned to bombard him. "Have you not done harm
enough? Had you been aught but a fool--had you respected me as a husband
should--you had left well alone and let her go her ways."

"There was my duty to her father, to say aught of--"

"And what of your duty to me?" she blazed, her eyes puckering most
malignantly. She reminded Mr. Caryll of nothing so much as a vulture.
"Had ye forgotten that? Have ye no thought for decency--no respect for
your wife?"

Her strident voice was echoing through the house and drawing a little
crowd of gaping servants to the hall. To spare Mistress Winthrop, Mr.
Caryll took it upon himself to close the door. The countess turned at
the so