And she glanced up into his face from under her long eyelashes in so fascinating a manner, that the earl caught her in his arms before she had time to remonstrate, and forgot all about the former lover. So the time wore away, each day more delightful than the last, spent under the orange and myrtle trees, or in sailing round the bay, until the longed-for wedding morning broke, and they were married in the English church at Malta. Their plans were to go to an hotel higher up in the island, for a fortnight’s honeymoon, after which they were to start in the _Débutante_ for the Grecian Isles, before returning to England. A few days after his marriage, Lord Ilfracombe received a letter by the English mail that seemed greatly to disturb him. He was most anxious to conceal it, and his own feelings regarding it, from the observation of his wife, and this he had no difficulty in doing, as she did not appear even to have noticed that he was unlike himself. The letter was from a woman, long and diffusive, and he read it many times. Then he entered the sitting-room and addressed Lady Ilfracombe. ‘Have you torn up the paper that contained the description of our marriage, darling?’ he inquired. ‘What, that local thing? No, I never looked at it a second time. It is somewhere about. What can you possibly want with it, Ilfracombe?’ ‘Only to send to one of my English friends, Nora. It is so funnily worded, it will amuse them.’ And then he found it, and put it in a wrapper and directed it to Miss Llewellyn, 999 Grosvenor Square, London. CHAPTER V.