mean by that?" demanded his lordship,
betraying himself more and more at every word.

Mr. Jenkins, in a spasm of terror, sought to pour oil upon these waters.
"My lord," he bleated, teeth and eyeballs protruding from his pallid
face. "My lord! Perhaps the gentleman is right. Perhaps--Perhaps--" He
gulped, and turned to Mr. Caryll. "What is't ye think we have forgot
now?" he asked.

"The time of day," Mr. Caryll replied, and watched the puzzled look that
came into both their faces.

"Do ye deal in riddles with us?" quoth his lordship. "What have we to do
with the time of day?"

"Best ask the parson," suggested Mr. Caryll.

Rotherby swung round again to Jenkins. Jenkins spread his hands in mute
bewilderment and distress. Mr. Caryll laughed silently.

"I'll not be married! I'll not be married!"

It was the lady who spoke, and those odd words were the first that Mr.
Caryll heard from her lips. They made an excellent impression upon
him, bearing witness to her good sense and judgment--although belatedly
aroused--and informing him, although the pitch was strained just now;
that the rich contralto of her voice was full of music. He was a judge
of voices, as of much else besides.

"Hoity-toity!" quoth his lordship, between petulance and simulated
amusement. "What's all the pother? Hortensia, dear--"

"I'll not be married!" she repeated firmly, her wide brown eyes meeting
his in absolute defiance, head thrown back, face pale but fearless.

"I don't believe," ventured Mr. Caryll, "that you could be if you
desired it. Leastways not here and now and by this." And he jerked a
contemptuous thumb sideways at Mr. Jenkins, toward whom he had turned
his shoulder. "Perhaps you have realized it for yourself."

A shudder ran through her; color flooded into her face and out again,
leaving it paler than before; yet she maintained a brave front that
moved Mr. Caryll profoundly to an even greater admiration of her.

Rotherby, his great jaw set, his hands clenched and eyes blazing, stood
irresolute between her and Mr. Caryll. Jenkins, in sheer terror, now
sank limply to a chair, whilst Gaskell looked on--a perfect servant--as
immovable outwardly and unconcerned as if he had been a piece of
furniture. Then his lordship turned again to Caryll.

"You take a deal upon yourself, sir," said he menacingly.

"A deal of what?" wondered Mr. Caryll blandly.

The question nonplussed Rotherby. He swore ferociously. "By God!" he
fumed, "I'l