The old Dutch clock in the corner of the hall-way was chiming the hour of three the following afternoon, when Jean opened the door of her room, and started to descend the wide staircase. From below voices floated up to her, and when she reached the landing she paused and, leaning over the banisters, looked down upon the girls who were standing near the open front door. Nathalie caught sight of her, and smiled blithely. "Don't you want to come with us, Jean? We are going over to the inn for a game of tennis." Jean shook her head. "I am going to be thoroughly domestic this afternoon," she announced with a conscious little laugh. At the sound of her voice Miss Stuart glanced sharply over her shoulder. There flashed into her mind the recollection of Farr's note to Jean the previous day. She closed her lips tightly as she followed Helen and Nathalie out upon the veranda, and was singularly silent as they sauntered leisurely across the lawn. When they were almost at the gates, she turned to Helen, a distressed expression on her lovely face. "Would you mind very much if I should turn back? I have had a slight headache all day, and the sun seems to make it so much worse." Helen looked sympathetically around at her. "Why no, indeed, dear. I was afraid you were not feeling well, you have been so quiet. By all means let us go right back." But Miss Stuart would not listen to such an arrangement, and declared, with quite the air of a martyr, that she should proceed to the inn, in spite of her headache, unless Helen would do as she desired. When at last she had succeeded in ridding herself of her companions, she drew a deep breath, and turning, walked hurriedly up the avenue. She did not quite see her way clear to prevent an interview between Farr and Jean, but she felt that if she were near at hand, fortune might throw some unlooked-for chance into her path. She had kept them apart so far. Surely she must not fail now at the very end, for the news of the _Vortex's_ departure had been spread abroad by Dudley with loud lamentations. A great stillness lay over the manor this warm August afternoon, and as she ascended the veranda steps she heard clearly Aunt Helen's soft voice calling to Jean from the floor above. "My dear, will you not come up and read to me for a while? My eyes are troubling me so, I dare not use them any more." Miss Stuart stood still and listened, as Jean came slowly out from the drawing-room. "Very well, Auntie," the girl responded half-heartedly, and with an impatient sigh started up the stairs.