“That is cool!” And Bulchester’s light blue eyes glowed with anger for a moment.  His moods of resentment against his companion’s domination, though few and far between, were very real.

“Not at all.  In fact it is a delightful place, and I don’t know to what good fortune we are indebted for an invitation.  Neither of us has much acquaintance with Archdale.”

“Archdale?  Stephen Archdale?”

“Yes.  You look amazed, man.  We are asked to meet Sir Temple and Lady Dacre.  I don’t exactly see how it came about, but I do see that it is the very thing I want in order to go on with the search.  Another city, other families.”

“But—.”  Bulchester stopped.

“But what?”

“Why, the possible Mistress Archdale,—­Elizabeth.  Of course I am happy to go, if you enjoy the situation.”

A dangerous look rayed out from Edmonson’s eyes.

“I can stand it, if Archdale can,” he answered.  “How fate works to bring us together,” he mused.

“I don’t understand,” cried the other.  “What has fate to do with this invitation?” Edmonson, who had spoken, forgetting that he was not alone, looked at his companion with sudden suspicion.  But Bulchester went on in the same tone.  “If it is to carry out your purpose though, little you will care for having been a suitor of Mistress Archdale.”

“On the contrary, it will add piquancy to the visit.”  Then he added, “Don’t you see, Bulchester, that I dare not throw away an opportunity?  Ship ‘Number One’ has foundered.  ‘Number Two’ must come to land.  That is the amount of it.”

“Yes,” returned Bulchester with so much assurance that the other’s scrutiny relaxed.

“I suppose it is settled,” said his lordship after a pause.

“Certainly,” answered Edmonson; and he smiled.

Lady Dacre and train, having fairly started on their two day’s journey, she settled herself luxuriously and again began her observations.  But as they were not especially striking, no chronicle of them can be found, except that she called Brattle Street an alley, begged pardon for it with a mixture of contrition and amusement, and generally patronized the country a little.  Sir Temple enjoyed it greatly, and Archdale was glad of any diversion.  When they had stopped for the night, as they sat by the open windows of the inn and looked out into the garden which was too much a tangle for anything but moonlight and June to give it beauty, Lady Dacre sprang up, interrupting her husband in one of his remarks, and declaring it a shame to stay indoors such a night.

“Give me your arm,” she said to Archdale, “and let us take a turn out here.  We don’t want you, Temple; we want to talk.”

Sir Temple, serenely sure of hearing, before he slept, the purport of any conversation that his wife might have had, took up a book which he had brought with him.  He was an excellent traveler in regard to one kind of luggage; the same book lasted him a good while.