make up for him."

She glanced at him impressively and Granet bowed. A few minutes later
in obedience to Lady Anselman's signal, they all made their way into
the lounge, where coffee was being served. Granet made his way to
Geraldine's side but she received him a little coldly.

"I have been doing my aunt's behests," he explained. "My strict orders
were to make myself agreeable to a young woman who lives in a sort
of bluebeard's house, where no visitors are allowed and smiling is
prohibited."

Geraldine looked across at Isabel Worth.

"I never met Miss Worth before," she said. "I believe her father is
wonderfully clever. Did I hear you say that you were going out of town?"

Granet nodded.

"I am going away for a few days. I am going away," he added, dropping
his voice, "ostensibly for a change of air. I have another reason for
going."

He looked at her steadfastly and she forgot her vague misgivings of a
few minutes ago. After all, his perceptions were right. It was better
for him to leave London for a time.

"I hope the change will do you good," she said quietly. "I think,
perhaps, you are right to go."

CHAPTER XVIII

Granet, a few days later, brought his car to a standstill in front of
an ordinary five-barred gate upon which was painted in white letters
"Market Burnham Hall." A slight grey mist was falling and the country
inland was almost blotted from sight. On the other side of the gate a
sandy driver disappeared into an avenue of ragged and stunted elm trees,
which effectually concealed any view of the house.

"Seems as though the girl were right," Granet muttered to himself.
"However, here goes."

He backed his car close to the side of the hedge, and laying his
hand upon the latch of the gate, prepared to swing it open. Almost
immediately a figure stepped out from the shrubs.

"Halt!"

Granet looked with surprise at the khaki-clad figure.

"Your name and destination?" the man demanded.

"Captain Granet of the Royal Fusiliers, home from the Front on leave,"
Granet replied. "I was going up to the Hall to call on Miss Worth."

"Stay where you are, if you please, sir," the man replied.

He stepped back into the sentry box and spoke through a telephone. In a
moment or two he reappeared.

"Pass on, please, sir," he said.

Granet walked slowly up the avenue, his hands behind him, a frown upon
his forehead. Perhaps, after all, things were not to be so easy for him.
On either side he could