she tactfully did not insist upon flying to Capheaton, she wrote
such charming letters, happily free of solecisms, that Gwynne wondered
at his failure to sound the depths of her charm. But he refrained from
meeting her, and the reason was that he was slowly working towards a
momentous decision, and wished to arm himself at all points before
braving her possible disapproval. When he was his cool normal collected
self again, he gave way to his impatience to see the woman he had every
reason to believe was deeply in love with him. He telegraphed her a
peremptory appeal to go up to her house in London, and she was too wise
to refuse. It was now October and London quite bearable. She telegraphed
to her servants to strip her house of its summer shroud, and returned
early on the day of his choice.

It is hardly necessary to state that Mrs. Kaye lived in Park Lane. She
had cultivated half-tones with a notable success, but to symbolize her
new estate was a temptation it had not occurred to her to resist.
Shortly after her return from India she had bought a large house in the
facade of London, and furnished it with a luxury that satisfied one of
the deepest cravings of her being, while her admirable sense of balance
saved her from the peculiar extravagances of the cocotte.

She had seen Lady Victoria's expressive boudoir at Capheaton, and its
mate in Curzon Street, and relieved the envy they inspired in a caustic
epigram that happily did not reach the insolent beauty's ear. "These old
coquettes," she had lisped, with an amused uplift of one eyebrow. "They
surround themselves with the atmosphere of the demi-monde and forget
that a wrinkle is as fatal as a chaperon."

The pictures in her own house were as correct as they were costly, and
she had no boudoir. She invariably received her guests in the
drawing-room, an immense and unique apartment, with a frieze of dusky
copies of old masters, all of a size, and all framed in gilt as dim with
time. From them depended a tapestry of crimson silk brocade of
uncheckered surface. By a cunning arrangement of furniture the great
room was broken up into a semblance of smaller ones, each with its group
of comfortable chairs, its tea-table, or book case, or cabinet of
bibelots, or open hearth. And all exhaled the inviting atmosphere of
occupation.

Mrs. Kaye, rested, and more self-possessed than if the hastening lover
had been the late Lord Brathland, but agreeably stirred nevertheless,
awa