Is this girl speaking the truth? Had Marian seen and then made her bet, and then deliberately drawn him step by step to that accursed arbour?  And all so quietly—­so secretly—­without a thought of pity, of remorse!

No, it is not true!  This girl is false——­ And yet—­that quick step Marian had taken; it had somehow, in some queer way, planted itself upon his memory.

Had she seen Tita go by with Hescott?  She had called it a fair bet!  Was it fair?  Was there any truth anywhere?  If she had seen them—­if she had deliberately led him to spy upon them——­

A very rage of anger swells up within his heart, and with it a first doubt—­a first suspicion of the honour of her on whom he had set his soul!  Perhaps the ground was ready for the sowing.

“Saw her?  Yes, indeed,” says Minnie, still with the air of childish candour.  “It was because I saw her that I was so frightened about Tita.  Do you know, Sir Maurice,”—­most ingenuously this—­“I don’t think Mrs. Bethune likes Tita.”

“Why should you suppose such a thing?” says Rylton.  His face is dark and lowering.  “Tita seems to me to be a person impossible to dislike.”

“Ah, that is what I think,” says Minnie.  “And it made me the more surprised that Mrs. Bethune should look at her so unkindly.  Well,” smiling very naturally and pleasantly, “I suppose there is nothing in it.  It was only my love for Tita that made me come and tell you what was troubling me.”

“Why not tell Tita?”

“Ah, Tita is a little angel,” says Minnie Hescott.  “I might as well speak to the winds as to her.  I tried to tell her, you know, and——­”

“And——­”

He looked up eagerly.

“And she wouldn’t listen.  I tell you she is an angel,” says Minnie, laughing.  She stops.  “I suppose it is all nonsense—­all my own folly; but I am so fond of Tita, that I felt terrified when I saw Mrs. Bethune look so unkindly at her on the balcony.”

“You are sure you were not dreaming?” says Rylton, making an effort, and growing careless once again in his manner.

Minnie Hescott smiles too.

“I never dream,” says she.

CHAPTER V.

HOW MISS GOWER GOES FOR A PLEASANT ROW UPON THE LAKE WITH HER
NEPHEW; AND HOW SHE ADMIRES THE SKY AND THE WATER; AND HOW PRESENTLY
FEAR FALLS ON HER; AND HOW DEATH THREATENS HER; AND HOW BY A MERE
SCRATCH OF A PEN SHE REGAINS SHORE AND LIFE.

“How delicious the water looks to-day!” says Miss Gower, gazing at the still lake beneath her with a sentimental eye.  The eye is under one of the biggest sun-hats in Christendom.  “And the sky,” continues Miss Gower, now casting the eye aloft, “is admirably arranged too.  What a day for a row, and so late in the season, too!”

“‘Late, late, so late!’” quotes her nephew, in a gloomy tone.

“Nonsense!” sharply; “it is not so very late, after all.  And even if it were there would be no necessity for being so lugubrious over it.  And permit me to add, Randal, that when you take a lady out for a row, it is in the very worst possible taste to be in low spirits.”