“Do you know him?”

“Not even who it is.  I imagine that Stephen does, but he does not tell all he knows.”

“I have found that out,” laughed Lady Dacre.  “Indeed, I don’t feel like laughing,” she added quickly, “but it seems to me only an awkward predicament, you see, and I am thinking of the time when the young people will be free to tie themselves according to their fancies.

“I don’t take it so lightly,” answered the lady, “and my husband, when Stephen is out of the way, shakes his head dolefully over it.  He believes Harwin’s story, and in that case he argues badly.  My husband has a conscience, and he does not intend that his son shall commit bigamy.  Neither does Stephen, of course, intend to; but then, Stephen is in love with Katie, and he and Elizabeth Royal are disposed to carry matters with a high hand.  But Katie has scruples, too, and she must, of course, be satisfied.”

“Of course.  What kind of person is this Elizabeth Royal?” asked Lady Dacre after a pause.  “Is she pretty, or plain?”

“Not plain, certainly.  She has a kind of beauty at times, a beauty of expression quite remarkable, Katie tells me.  But I have not seen anything especial about her.”

“You don’t like her?” questioned Lady Dacre.

“Oh, yes, only that I think her rather cool in her manners.  She is the soul of honor.  She comes of good stock, some of the best in the country.  Her mother was a connection of Madam Pepperell.  I believe she is about to visit there with her father.  We shall meet them both.”  And the speaker explained that the Colonel knew Mr. Royal well, and would be anxious to pay them some attention.  “I suppose I am no judge of the young lady,” she added.  “I have not seen her since the wedding, and only a few times before that when she was visiting Katie.  She is an heiress; I understand that she is very wealthy, much richer than my little niece will ever be.”

“Ah!” said Lady Dacre.  It seemed to her that she understood how troublesome Colonel Archdale’s conscience must be to him in this matter.  But the Colonel was a stranger to her, and at times Lady Dacre was severe in her judgments.  Sir Temple declared that she never had any scruples over that second line of the famous poem of aversion,

  “I do not like you.  Dr. Fell.”

“There is something I want to tell you,” she said after a pause, “something about Sir Temple and myself.”  And her listener received the confidence that had been withheld from Stephen a few evenings before in the garden.

Lady Dacre had scarcely finished when there came the sound of feet on the stairs, a blonde head appeared in the narrow opening, another head of dull brown hair came close behind, and Gerald Edmonson, followed by Lord Bulchester, stepped into the cupola.  Lady Dacre remembered at the moment what Archdale had said on the journey, that most peoples’ shadows changed about,—­now before, now on one side or the other, but Edmonson’s always went straight behind him.