For—­“Thank God!”—­said Mrs. Poreham, with feeling,—­“I do not live in Riversford.  I would not live in Riversford if I were paid a fortune to do so!  My poor mother never permitted me to associate with tradespeople.  There are no ladies or gentlemen in Riversford,—­ I should be expected to shake hands with my butcher if I resided there,—­but I am proud and glad to say that at present I know nobody in the place.  I never intend to know anybody there!”

Several curious glances were turned upon Miss Vancourt as she stood near an open window looking out on the Badsworth Hall ’Italian Garden,’—­a relic of Badsworth times,—­her fair head turned away from the titled aristocrat who bent towards her, as it seemed, in an attitude of humble appeal,—­and one or two would-be wise persons nodded their heads and whispered—­“That’s the man she’s engaged to.”  “Oh, really!—–­and his name—–?” “Lord Roxmouth;—­will be Duke of Ormistoune—–­” “Good gracious!  That woman a Duchess!” snorted Mrs. Mordaunt Appleby, as she heard—­“The men must be going mad!” Which latter remark implied that had she not unfortunately married a brewer, she might easily have secured the Ormistoune ducal coronet herself.

Unaware of the gossip going on around her, Maryllia stayed where she was at the window, coldly silent, her eyes fixed on the glowing flower-beds patterned in front of her,—­the gorgeous mass of petunias, and flame-colored geraniums,—­the rich saffron and brown tints of thick clustered calceolarias,—­the purple and crimson of pendulous fuchsias, whose blossoms tumbled one upon the other in a riot of splendid colour,—­and all at once her thoughts strayed capriciously to the cool green seclusion of John Walden’s garden.  She remembered the spray of white lilac he had given her, and fancied she could almost inhale again its delicious perfume.  But the lilac flowering-time was over now—­and the roses had it all their own way,—­she had given a rose in exchange for the lilac, and—­Here she started almost nervously as Lord Roxmouth’s voice again fell on her ears.

“You are not sparing me any of your attention,” he said—­“Your mind is engrossed with something—­or somebody—­else!  Possibly I have a rival?”

He smiled, but there was a quick hard gleam of suspicion in his cold grey eyes.  Maryllia gave him a look of supreme disdain.

“You are insolent,” she said, speaking in very low but emphatic tones—­“You always were!  You presume too much on Aunt Emily’s encouragement of your attentions to me, which you know are unwelcome.  You are perfectly aware that I left London to escape a scheme concocted by you and her to so compromise me in the view of society, that no choice should be left to me save marriage with you.  Now you have followed me here, and I know why!  You have come to try and find out what I do with myself—­to spy upon my actions and occupations, and take back your report to Aunt Emily.  You are perfectly welcome to enter upon this congenial task!  You can visit me at my own house,—­you can play detective all over the place, if you are happy in that particular role.  Every opportunity shall be given you!”