“But why should she have chosen that you should see such—­such a vision as that?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“Ah, there you have me!  I can’t imagine what should prompt her to do such a cruel, unseemly thing.”

“You think it’s quite impossible that Bubbles personated either of these—­these”—­he hesitated for a word, and Blanche answered his only half-asked question very decidedly.

“If there’d been only one figure there, I confess I should have thought that Bubbles had in some way dressed up, and ‘worked it.’  You know how fond she used to be of practical jokes?  But there were two forms—­absolutely distinct the one from the other.”

Lionel Varick took a turn up and down the long room.  Then he came and stood opposite to her, and she was shocked at the change in his face.  He looked as if he had been through some terrible physical experience.

“I wish you’d arrange for her to go away, at once—­I mean, to-morrow.  Forgive me for saying such a thing, but I feel that nothing will go right while Bubbles is at Wyndfell Hall,” he exclaimed.

Blanche looked what he had never seen her look before—­offended.  “I don’t think I can get her away to-morrow, Lionel.  She’s nowhere to go to.  After all, she gave up a delightful party to come here and help us out.”

“Very well,” he said hastily.  “Perhaps I ought not to have suggested anything so inhospitable”—­he tried to smile.  “But I will ask you to do me one favour?”

“Yes,” she said, still speaking coldly.  “What is it?”

“I want you to ask Miss Brabazon and her aunt to keep what happened this afternoon absolutely to themselves.”

“Of course I will!” She was relieved.  “I don’t think either of them is in the least likely to be even tempted to speak of it.”

CHAPTER XIII

But even while Varick and Blanche Farrow were arranging together that this disturbing and mysterious occurrence should remain secret, Helen Brabazon was actually engaged in telling one who was still a stranger to her the story of her amazing experience.

Perhaps this was owing to the fact that the door of the hall had scarcely shut behind her when she met Sir Lyon Dilsford face to face.

Almost involuntarily he exclaimed, with a good deal of real concern in his voice:  “Is anything the matter?  I hope you haven’t had bad news?”

She said, “Oh, no,” and shook her head; but the tears welled up again into her eyes.

When an attractive girl who generally shows remarkable powers of quietude and self-control breaks down, and proves herself a very woman after all, the average man is generally touched, and more than a little moved.  Sir Lyon felt oddly affected by Helen’s evident distress, and an ardent desire to console and to help her rose instinctively in his mind.

“Come into the study!” he exclaimed in a low voice.  “And tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you?”