l custom, appears very early on the
field, evidently desirous of enjoying the fray to its utmost. He looks
quite jubilant and fresh for him, and his nose is in a degree sharper
than its wont. He opens an animated discourse with Cecil; but Lady
Stafford, although _distrait_ and with her mind on the stretch,
listening for every sound outside, replies brilliantly, and,
woman-like, conceals her anxiety with her tongue.

At length the dreaded moment comes. There is a sound of footfalls,
nearer--nearer still--then, "clearer, deadlier than before," and the
door opens, to discover Sir Penthony upon the threshold.

Lady Stafford is sitting within the embrasure of the window.

"Fortune favors me," she says hurriedly to Molly, alluding to the other
guests' non-appearance.

"Your wife is staying with me," Mr. Amherst begins, complacently; and,
pointing to Cecil, "Allow me to introduce you to----"

"Lady Stafford," Cecil interrupts, coming forward while a good deal of
rich crimson mantles in her cheeks. She is looking lovely from
excitement; and her pretty, rounded, graceful figure is shown off to
the best advantage by the heavy fall of the red draperies behind her.

Sir Penthony gazes, spell-bound, at the gracious creature before him;
the color recedes from his lips and brow; his eyes grow darker.
Luttrell with difficulty suppresses a smile. Mr. Amherst is almost
satisfied.

"You are welcome," Cecil says, with perfect self-possession, putting
out her hand and absolutely taking his; for so stunned is he by her
words that he even forgets to offer it.

Drawing him into a recess of the window, she says, reproachfully, "Why
do you look so astonished? Do you not know that you are gratifying that
abominable old man? And will you not say you are glad to see me after
all these long three years?"

"I don't understand," Sir Penthony says, vaguely. "Are there two Lady
Staffords? And whose wife are you?"

"Yours! Although you don't seem in a hurry to claim me," she says, with
a rarely pretty pout.

"Impossible!"

"I am sorry to undeceive you, but it is indeed the truth I speak."

"And whose picture did I get?" he asks, a faint glimmer of the real
facts breaking in upon him.

"The parlor-maid's," says Cecil, now the strain is off her, laughing
heartily and naturally,--so much so that the other occupants of the
room turn to wonder enviously what is going on behind the curtains.
"The parlor-maid! And such a girl as she was! Do yo