her attention to it.

Mr. Caryll stepped between them, his back to his lordship, that he might
act as a screen under cover of which to dispose safely of that dangerous
document. But he was too late. Her ladyship's quick eyes had flashed
to it, and if the distance precluded the possibility of her discovering
anything that might be written upon it, she, nevertheless, could see the
curious nature of the paper, which was of the flimsiest tissue of a sort
extremely uncommon.

"What is't ye hide?" said she, as she came forward. "Why, we are very
close, surely! What mischief is't ye hatch, my lord?"'

"Mis--mischief, my love?" He smiled propitiatingly--hating her more than
ever in that moment. He had stuffed the letter into an inner pocket
of his coat, and but that she had another matter to concern her at the
moment she would not have allowed the question she had asked to be so
put aside. But this other matter upon her mind touched her very closely.

"Devil take it, whatever it may be! Rotherby is here."

"Rotherby?" His demeanor changed; from conciliating it was of a sudden
transformed to indignant. "What makes he here?" he demanded. "Did I not
forbid him my house?"

"I brought him," she answered pregnantly.

But for once he was not to be put down. "Then you may take him hence
again," said he. "I'll not have him under my roof--under the same roof
with that poor child he used so infamously. I'll not suffer it!"

The Gorgon cannot have looked more coldly wicked than her ladyship just
then. "Have a care, my lord!" she muttered threateningly. "Oh, have a
care, I do beseech you. I am not so to be crossed!"

"Nor am I, ma'am," he rejoined, and then, before more could be said, Mr.
Caryll stepped forward to remind them of his presence--which they seemed
to stand in danger of forgetting.

"I fear that I intrude, my lord," said he, and bowed in leave-taking. "I
shall wait upon your lordship later. Your most devoted. Ma'am, your very
humble servant." And he bowed himself out.

In the ante-room he came upon Lord Rotherby, striding to and fro, his
brow all furrowed with care. At sight of Mr. Caryll, the viscount's
scowl grew blacker. "Oons and the devil!" he cried. "What make you
here?"

"That," said Mr. Caryll pleasantly, "is the very question your father is
asking her ladyship concerning yourself. Your servant, sir." And airy,
graceful, smiling that damnable close smile of his, he was gone, leaving
Rotherby very hot and an