“Oh, not so bad as that,” said Keith.

“Yes; there is no limit to their folly.  I know them.  I am one myself.”

“But you do not want to be a man?”

“No, not now.  I am too old and dependent.  But I’ll let you into a secret.  I am secretly envious of them.  I’d like to be able to put them down under my heel and make them—­squeal.”

Mrs. Nailor turned and spoke to the old lady.  She was evidently about to take her leave.  Keith moved over, and for the first time addressed Miss Huntington.

“I want you to show me about these grounds,” he said, speaking so that both ladies could hear him.  He rose, and both walked out of the parlor.  When Mrs. Nailor came out, Keith and his guide were nowhere to be found, so she had to wait; but a half-hour afterwards he and Miss Huntington came back from the stables.

As they drove out of the grounds they passed a good-looking young fellow just going in.  Keith recognized Dr. Locaman.

“That is the young man who is so attentive to your young friend,” said Mrs. Nailor; “Dr. Locaman.  He saved her life and now is going to marry her.”

It gave Keith a pang.

“I know him.  He did not save her life.  If anybody did that, it was an old country doctor, Dr. Balsam.”

“That old man!  I thought he was dead years ago.”

“Well, he is not.  He is very much alive.”

A few evenings later Keith found Mrs. Lancaster in the hotel.  He had just arrived from The Lawns when Mrs. Lancaster came down to dinner.  Her greeting was perfect.  Even Mrs. Nailor was mystified.  She had never looked handsomer.  Her black gown fitted perfectly her trim figure, and a single red rose, half-blown, caught in her bodice was her only ornament.  She possessed the gift of simplicity.  She was a beautiful walker, and as she moved slowly down the long dining-room as smoothly as a piece of perfect machinery, every eye was upon her.  She knew that she was being generally observed, and the color deepened in her cheeks and added the charm of freshness to her beauty.

“By Jove! what a stunning woman!” exclaimed a man at a table near by to his wife.

“It is not difficult to be ‘a stunning woman’ in a Worth gown, my dear,” she said sweetly.  “May I trouble you for the Worcestershire?”

Keith’s attitude toward Mrs. Lancaster puzzled even so old a veteran as Mrs. Nailor.

Mrs. Nailor was an adept in the art of inquisition.  To know about her friends’ affairs was one of the objects of her life, and it was not only the general facts that she insisted on knowing:  she proposed to be acquainted with their deepest secrets and the smallest particulars.  She knew Alice Lancaster’s views, or believed she did; but she had never ventured to speak on the subject to Gordon Keith.  In fact, she stood in awe of Keith, and now he had mystified her by his action.  Finally, she could stand it no longer, and so next evening she opened fire on Keith.  Having screwed her courage to the sticking-point, she attacked boldly.  She caught him on the verandah, smoking alone, and watching him closely to catch the effect of her attack, said suddenly: