"No, my lord, you may not ask me--at least, I do not mean that--you may ask what you will, but you must excuse me if I do not reply. The fact is this--if you ask as to the state of my farm, my balance at the bank, my hopes of a crop, I will tell you; but when it comes to the ladies of my family, you must really excuse me if I distinctly and plainly refuse to answer one question concerning them. I am sorry to seem rude, my lord." But, like every one else who saw him, Lord Vivianne admired Mark Brace. He held out his white, slim hand to touch the farmer's sunburnt one. "There is no offense, Mr. Brace," he said. "You are an honest man, and I shall think better of all other men for having seen you. If you decline any conversation on the matter, it is, of course, useless for me to offer any explanations." "Quite useless, my lord; a waste of time." "Then, thanking you for your hospitality, I may as well go," said his lordship, with a smile. To which remark the farmer, not knowing what politeness required him to answer, made no answer at all. Although he was baffled, Lord Vivianne could not feel angry. "It would be a straightforward world," he said to himself, laughingly, "if all the men in it were like Mark Brace." Still he felt that he had in some measure won a victory--he had found out that, in connection with Doris, there was something to conceal. He went to Quainton and took up his abode for the night in the Castle Hotel. There he fancied he should be sure to hear something or other. Nor was he mistaken. In the billiard-room the conversation turned upon Earle Moray--they were very proud of him, they said that Lindenholm had given to England one of her finest poets--they boasted to each other of having known him, of having spoken to him; they talked of his election for Anderley; there had been no bribery--all had been open as the day. Yes, he had been returned almost without opposition. They spoke of Lord Linleigh's interest in him, and then one or two of the wisest among them told how he was to marry Lord Linleigh's daughter, the beautiful girl who, for some reason or other, had been brought up at Brackenside. It was impossible to keep such a secret quiet; some few in Quainton knew, and others guessed it. Lord Vivianne listened without a comment, the veins in his forehead swelled, his face flushed a hot crimson flush, his hands trembled. It was a victory he had hardly expected to win. Then he muttered to himself something that sounded like a fierce oath: