mind.  Sometimes Silver accompanied her, as the lady had given him to understand that she knew Pine’s real rank and name, so the two were made free of the Bohemians and frequently chatted with Ishmael Hearne.  But they kept his secret, as did Chaldea; and Garvington had no idea that the man he dreaded and hated—­who flung money to him as if he were tossing a bone to a dog—­was within speaking distance.  If he had known, he would assuredly have guessed the reason why Sir Hubert Pine had interested himself in the doings of a wandering tribe of undesirable creatures.

A week passed away and still, although Miss Greeby made daily inquiries, Lambert did not put in an appearance at the forest cottage.  Thinking that he had departed to escape her, she made up her impatient mind to repair to London, and to hunt him up at his club.  With this idea she intimated to Lady Garvington that she was leaving The Manor early next morning.  The ladies had just left the dinner-table, and were having coffee in the drawing-room when Miss Greeby made this abrupt announcement.

“Oh, my dear,” said Lady Garvington, in dismay.  “I wish you would change your mind.  Nearly everyone has gone, and the house is getting quite dull.”

“Thanks ever so much,” remarked Mrs. Belgrove lightly.  She sat near the fire, for the evening was chilly, and what with paint and powder, and hair-dye, to say nothing of her artistic and carefully chosen dress, looked barely thirty-five in the rosy lights cast by the shaded lamps.

“I don’t mean you, dear,” murmured the hostess, who was even more untidy and helpless than usual.  “You are quite a host in yourself.  And that recipe you gave me for Patagonian soup kept Garvington in quite a good humor for ever so long.  But the house will be dull for you without Clara.”

“Agnes is here, Jane.”

“I fear Agnes is not much of an entertainer,” said that lady, smiling in a weary manner, for this society chatter bored her greatly.

“That’s not to be wondered at,” struck in Miss Greeby abruptly.  “For of course you are thinking of your husband.”

Lady Agnes colored slightly under Miss Greeby’s very direct gaze, but replied equably enough, to save appearances, “He is still in Paris.”

“When did you last hear from him, dear?” questioned Lady Garvington, more to manufacture conversation than because she really cared.

“Only to-day I had a letter.  He is carrying out some special business and will return in two or three weeks.”

“You will be glad to see him, no doubt,” sneered Miss Greeby.

“I am always glad to see my husband and to be with him,” answered Lady Agnes in a dignified manner.  She knew perfectly well that Miss Greeby hated her, and guessed the reason, but she was not going to give her any satisfaction by revealing the true feelings of her heart.

“Well, I intend to stay here, Jane, if it’s all the same to you,” cried Mrs. Belgrove in her liveliest manner and with a side glance, taking in both Miss Greeby and Lady Agnes.  “Only this morning I received a chit-chat letter from Mr. Lambert—­we are great friends you know—­saying that he intended to come here for a few days.  Such a delightful man he is.”