“I wish to goodness the girl was out of the way!” he declared.  “She’s sharper than we think, and, by Jove! if ever she did know what was in progress it would be all up for both of us—­wouldn’t it?  Phew! think of it!”

“If I thought she had the slightest suspicion,” declared her ladyship with a sudden hardness of her lips, “I’d—­I’d close her mouth very quickly.”

“And for ever, eh?” he asked meaningly.

“Yes, for ever.”

“Bah!” he laughed.  “You’d be afraid to do that, my dear Winnie,” added the man, lowering his voice.  “Your husband is blind, it’s true; but there are other people in the world who are not.  Recollect, Gabrielle is now nineteen, and she has her eyes open.  She’s the eyes and ears of Sir Henry.  Not the slightest thing occurs in this household but it is told to him at once.  His indifference to all is only a clever pretence.”

“What!” she gasped quickly; “do you think he suspects?”

“Pray, what can he suspect?” asked the man very calmly, both hands in his trouser-pockets, as he leaned back against the table in front of her.

“He can only suspect things which his daughter knows,” she said.

“But what does she know?  What can she know?” he asked.

“How can we tell?  I have watched, but can detect nothing.  I am, however, suspicious, because she did not come to Connachan with us to-night.”

“Why?”

“Walter Murie may know something, and may have told her.”

“If so, then to close her lips would be useless.  It would only bring a heavier responsibility upon us—­and——­” But he hesitated, without finishing his sentence.  His meaning was apparent from the wry face she pulled at his remark.  He did not tell her how he had, while she had been dancing and flirting that night, made his way back to the castle, or how he had compelled Gabrielle to go forth and speak with him.  His action had been a bold one, yet its result had confirmed certain vague suspicions he had held.

Well he knew that the girl hated him heartily, and that she was in possession of a certain secret of his—­one which might easily result in his downfall.  He feared to tell the truth to this woman before him, for if he did so she would certainly withdraw from all association with him in order to save herself.

The key to the whole situation was held by that slim, sweet-faced girl, so devoted to her afflicted father.  He was not quite certain as to the actual extent of her knowledge, and was as yet undecided as to what attitude he should adopt towards her.  He stood between the Baronet’s wife and his daughter, and hesitated in which direction to follow.

What did she really know, he wondered.  Had she overheard any of that serious conversation between Lady Heyburn and himself while they walked together in the glen on the previous evening?  Such a contretemps was surely impossible, for he remembered they had taken every precaution lest even Stewart, the head gamekeeper, might be about in order to stop trespassers, who, attracted by the beauties of Glencardine, tried to penetrate and explore them, and by so doing disturbed the game.