“It is very kind of you.  I would like to show you my sitting-room, in the south wing.  Then you could see that they would have a comfortable home!”

“When may I come?”

This was direct, and Lady Ethelrida felt a piquant sensation of interest.  She had never in her life made an assignation with a man.  She thought a moment.

“They will start only at eleven to-morrow, because the first covert is at a corner of the park, quite near, and if it is fine we are all coming out with you until luncheon which we have in the house; then you go to the far coverts in the motors.  When, I wonder, would be best?”—­It seemed so nice to leave it to him.

“You breakfast downstairs at half-past nine, like this morning?”

“Yes, I always do, and the girls will and almost every one, because it is my birthday.”

“Then if I come exactly at half-past ten will you be there?”

“I will try.  But how will you know the way?”

“I have a bump of locality which is rather strong, and I know the windows from the outside.  You remember you showed them to me to-day as we walked to the tower.”

Lady Ethelrida experienced a distinct feeling of excitement over this innocent rendezvous.

“There is a staircase—­but no!”—­and she laughed—­“I shall tell you no more.  It will be a proof of your sagacity to find the clue to the labyrinth.”

“I shall be there,” he said, and once again he looked into her sweet, gray eyes; and she rose with a slightly faster movement than usual and drew him to where there were more of her guests.

Meanwhile Lord Elterton was losing no time in his pursuit of Zara.  He had been among the first to leave the dining-room, several paces in front of Tristram and the others, and instantly came to her and suggested a tour of the pictures.  He quite agreed with the financier—­these long, narrow rooms were most useful!

And Zara, thankful to divert her mind, went with him willingly, and soon found herself standing in front of an immense canvas given by the Regent, of himself, to the Duke’s grandfather, one of his great friends.

“I have been watching you all through dinner,” Lord Elterton said, “and you looked like a beautiful storm:  your dress the gray clouds, and your eyes the thunder ones—­threatening.”

“One feels like a storm sometimes,” said Zara.

“People are so tiresome, as a rule; you can see through them in half an hour.  But no one could ever guess about what you were thinking.”

“No one would want to—­if they knew.”

“Is it so terrible as that?” And he smiled—­she must be diverted.  “I wish I had met you long ago, because, of course, I cannot tell you all the things I now want to—­Tristram would be so confoundedly jealous—­like he was this afternoon.  It is the way of husbands.”

Zara did not reply.  She quite agreed to this, for of the jealousy of husbands she had experience!