‘I?’ said Wych Hazel, surprised.  ’Why, I do not know how to contrive things for myself.’

’O!  I do not mean anything complicated—­that never does well; but you could quite naturally, you know, give them opportunities of seeing each other pleasantly.  I think if he saw her he might come round again and take up his old fancy; and you being a stranger, you know, might do it without the least difficulty or gaucherie; they would meet quite on neutral ground, for nobody would suspect that you were au fait of our country complications.  I dare not stir, you see; that was the reason I could not invite Dane to our fishing to-day.  I knew it wouldn’t do.  This was my plot for you, that I told you about—­what do you think?  It would be doing a kind thing, and hurting nobody, at any rate.’

It did come to Miss Kennedy’s mind that Mr. Rollo was quite capable of ‘contriving’ his own situations; but she answered only, ‘Would it, ma’am?’

’It couldn’t do any harm, you know.  And you are the very person to do it.  And then, if your plan should succeed, it would have another good effect, to put Primrose Maryland in safety.’

If it had been daylight instead of moonlight, Mme. Lasalle might have seen the young face at her side knit itself into a very perplexed state indeed at these words; and the more Hazel thought the deeper she got.

‘It would be quite natural, you know,’ Mme. Lasalle went on after a pause, ’that a girl like her should be fascinated, and Rollo, without meaning to do any harm, would give her cause enough.  He is fascinating you know, but he is too cool by half.  Dr. Maryland, of course, never would see or understand what was going on; and Primrose is so sweet and inexperienced.  I know her sister was very uneasy about it before Rollo went away—­so long ago.  I fancy his going was partly thanks to her care.’

Closer and closer came the dark brows together, until by degrees her extremely fancy-free thoughts took a turn.  ’What a fuss! what was Mme. Lasalle talking about?  “Fascinating,” forsooth!—­she should like to see anybody that could fascinate her.’  And so the whole thing grew ludicrous, and she laughed, her soft ringing, girlish laugh.

’What a pirate he must be, Mme. Lasalle.  A true Dane!  Do many of that sort live on shore?’

‘Take care!’ said the lady in a different tone—­’dangers that are slighted are the first to be run into.’

The carriage stopped at that moment, so Wych Hazel had no need to reply.  She watched Mme. Lasalle drive off, took a comprehensive view of the moon for a minute, and then pirouetting round on the tips of her toes she flashed into the sitting room and favoured Mr. Falkirk with a courtesy profound enough for her grandmother.

CHAPTER XVII.

ENCHANTED GROUND.