Agnes never gave any one the satisfaction of knowing the exact truth.  She moved through the social world like a gentle ghost, fulfilling her duties admirably, but apparently indifferent to every one and everything.  “Clippin’ to look at,” said the young men, “but tombs to talk to.  No sport at all.”  But then the young men did not possess the key to Lady Agnes Pine’s heart.  Nor did her husband apparently.

Her voice was very low and musical, and every one felt its charm.  Garvington answered her question as he left the room.  “Romeo or no Romeo, guest or no guest,” he said harshly, “I’ll shoot any beast who tries to enter my house.  Come on, you fellows.  We start in half an hour for the coverts.”

When the men left the room, Miss Greeby came and sat down in a vacant seat near her hostess.  “What did Garvington mean by that last speech?” she asked with a significant look at Lady Agnes.

“Oh, my dear, when does Garvington ever mean anything?” said the other woman fretfully.  “He is so selfish; he leaves me to do everything.”

“Well,” drawled Miss Greeby with a pensive look on her masculine features, “he looked at Agnes when he spoke.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Lady Garvington sharply.

Miss Greeby gave a significant laugh.  “I notice that Mr. Lambert is not in the house,” she said carelessly.  “But some one told me he was near at hand in the neighborhood.  Surely Garvington doesn’t mean to shoot him.”

“Clara.”  The hostess sat up very straight, and a spot of color burned on either sallow cheek.  “I am surprised at you.  Noel is staying in the Abbot’s Wood Cottage, and indulging in artistic work of some sort.  But he can come and stay here, if he likes.  You don’t mean to insinuate that he would climb into the house through a window after dark like a burglar?”

“That’s just what I do mean,” retorted Miss Greeby daringly, “and if he does, Garvington will shoot him.  He said so.”

“He said nothing of the sort,” cried Lady Garvington, angrily rising.

“Well, he meant it.  I saw him looking at Agnes.  And we know that Sir Hubert is as jealous as Othello.  Garvington is on guard I suppose, and—­”

“Will you hold your tongue?” whispered the mistress of the Manor furiously, and she would have shaken Miss Greeby, but that she had borrowed money from her and did not dare to incur her enmity.  “Agnes will hear you; she is looking this way; can’t you see?”

“As if I cared,” laughed Miss Greeby, pushing out her full lower lip in a contemptuous manner.  However, for reasons best known to herself, she held her peace, although she would have scorned the idea that the hint of her hostess made her do so.