“It did not reach me,” she repeated.  She was very pale; her eyes had dropped from his.

“I was going to allow you a month to answer that letter,” he went on, as though she had not spoken.  “After that, our—­friendship would have been at an end.  The month will be up to-morrow.”

Anne was silent.

“Lady Carfax,” he said, “will you swear to me that you never received that letter?”

“No,” she said.

“You will not?”

“I will not.”

He made a sudden movement—­such a movement as a man makes involuntarily at an unexpected dart of pain.

Anne raised her eyes very quietly.  “Let us be quite honest,” she said.  “No oath is ever necessary between friends.”

“You expect me to believe you?” he said, and his voice was shaken by some emotion he scarcely tried to hide.

She smiled very faintly.  “You do believe me,” she said.

He turned sharply from her.  “Let us go down,” he said.

They went down to the garden below the terrace, walking side by side, in silence.  They stood at the edge of the lake together, and presently they talked—­talked of a hundred things in which neither were greatly interested.  A few people drifted up and were introduced.  Then Bertie came running down, and their tete-a-tete was finally at an end.

They were far away from one another during luncheon, and when the meal was over Nap disappeared.  He never concerned himself greatly about his brother’s guests.

At Bertie’s persuasion Anne had brought skates, and she went down with him to the lake in the afternoon, where they skated together till sunset.  She had a curious feeling that Nap was watching her the whole time, though he was nowhere to be seen; nor did he appear at tea in the great hall.

Later Mrs. Errol took possession of her, and they sat together in the former’s sitting-room till it was time to dress for dinner.  Anne had brought no fancy dress, but her hostess was eager to provide for her.  She clothed her in a white domino and black velvet mask, and insisted upon her wearing a splendid diamond tiara in the shape of a heart in her soft hair.

When she finally descended the stairs in Mrs. Errol’s company, a slim man dressed as a harlequin in black and silver, who was apparently waiting for her halfway down, bowed low and presented a glorious spray of crimson roses with the words:  “For the queen who can do no wrong!”

“My, Nap!  How you startled me!” ejaculated Mrs. Errol.

But Anne said nothing whatever.  She only looked him straight in the eyes for an instant, and passed on with the roses in her hand.

During dinner she saw nothing of him.  The great room was crowded with little tables, each laid for two, and she sat at the last of all with her host.  Later she never remembered whether they talked or were silent.  She only knew that somewhere the eyes that had watched her all the afternoon were watching her still, intent and tireless, biding their time.  But silence in Lucas Errol’s company was as easy as speech.  Moreover, a string band played continuously throughout the meal, and the hubbub around them made speech unnecessary.