dd that she
spoke of one of "his", not one of "our" friends, and did not mention her
name.

"Well, the whole of Tidborough knows where you've been, Nona," Lord
Tybar greeted them. "And a good place too." He addressed the lady by his
side. "Puggo, look at those pulpits and things in the window. You never
go to church. It'll do you good. That's a pulpit, that tall thing. They
preach from that."

The lady remarked, "Thanks. I can remember it. At least I was married in
a church, you know."

"And, of course," said Nona, "you always remember you're married, don't
you?"

Sabre glanced quickly at her. Her tone cut across the frivolous
exchanges with an acid note. So utterly unlike Nona!

And the thing was real, not imagined; and went further. The uncommonly
pretty woman addressed as Puggo replied, "Oh, always. And so do you,
don't you, dear?" and her uncommonly pretty eyes went in a quick glance
from Nona's face to Sabre's, where they hovered the fraction of a
moment, and thence to Lord Tybar's where also they hovered, and smiled.

And Lord Tybar, his small, handsome head slightly on one side, looked
from one to another with precisely that mock in his glance that Sabre
had noticed, and transiently wondered at, on the day he had met them
riding.

Funny!

"But, Puggo, you don't know Sabre, do you?" Lord Tybar said. "Sabre,
this is Mrs. Winfred. A woman of mystery. One mystery is how she ever
won Fred and the other why she is called Puggo. There must be something
pretty dark in her past to have got her a name like Puggo."

The woman of mystery shrugged her shoulders. "Of course Tony's simply a
fool," she observed. "You know that, don't you, Mr. Sabre?"

"It's not her face," Lord Tybar continued. "You might think it's her
figure the way she hides it up under all those furs on a day like this.
But a pug's figure--"

Nona broke in. "I suppose we're going to start some time?"

"Will you come and sit here?" Puggo inquired, but without making any
movement.

"No, I'll sit behind."

She got in. "Good-by, Marko." Her voice sounded tired. She gave Sabre
her hand. "Jolly, the books," she said. "And our talk."

"Now throw yourself in front, any boy who wants to be killed," Lord
Tybar called to the idlers. "No corpses to-day?" He let in the clutch.
"Good-by, Sabre. Good-by, good-by." He waved his hand airily. The big
car slid importantly up the street.

Sabre watched them pass out of sight. As the car turned out of The
P