She presses her hot cheek against the pane of the open window, and as she does so she starts.  She leans out into the night, and yes—­yes, beyond doubt, here is the carriage!

It is rounding the bushes at the corner, and is already in sight.  She springs lightly into the hall—­now deserted, as all the house party have gone up the stairs to the happy hunting grounds above.  All, that is, except Margaret and Colonel Neilson, who are waiting for the “Coo-ee.”

Mrs. Bethune had forgotten them, and running lightly through the hall, she opens the door, and steps into the moonlight just as Sir Maurice comes up the steps.

“You!” says he, surprised.

“Yes.  I heard you coming.”  There is a sort of wild delight in her voice.  She would have liked to have flung herself into his arms, but the men outside are busy with his portmanteau and other things; and then—­his mother——­

“Your mother?” asks she, peering into the darkness.

“She has not come.  I had a telegram from her at Claridge’s.  She can’t come till next week, so I came back.”  He pauses, and then, abruptly, “Where is Tita?”

“Tita?” Mrs. Bethune shrugs her shoulders, and a little low laugh escapes her.  “She is playing hide-and-seek,” says she, “with—­her cousin.”

“What are you saying?” exclaims Rylton, her manner far more than her words striking cold to his heart.  “Do you mean to insinuate——­”

“Why, nothing.  I insinuate nothing; we have all been playing——­”

“All?”

“Yes.”

“You and——­”

“And everyone else.”

“Was there nothing better, then, for you all to do?”

“Many things,” coldly.  “But your wife started the game.  She had doubtless her reasons——­”

“Is that another insinuation?  But at all events you cannot condemn the game, as you joined in it.”

“I could not avoid joining in it.  Was I to be the one to censure my hostess?”

“Certainly not,” sternly.  “No one is censuring her.  And besides, as you all——­” Then, as though the words are torn from him, “Where is she now?”

“In the picture-gallery, behind one of your favourite screens, with Mr. Hescott.”

“A graphic description,” says he.  He almost thrusts her aside, and steps quickly into the hall.  Mrs. Bethune, leaning against the wall behind her, breaks into silent, terrible laughter.

At the foot of the stairs Margaret comes quickly to him.  His face frightens her.

“Where are you going, Maurice?”

“Upstairs,” returns he quite calmly.

“You are going to be angry with Tita,” says Margaret suddenly.  “I know it!  And nothing is true. Nothing! What has Marian been saying to you?  She”—­with the very strangest little burst of passion, from Margaret, the quiet Margaret!—­“she has been telling you lies!”

“My dear Margaret!”

“Oh, Maurice, do be led by me!—­by anyone but her!” says Miss Knollys, holding him, as he would have gone on.  “Why can’t you see?  Are you blind?”