Mr. Carnaby Leo's interest in his surroundings seemed to deepen at the suggestion. "I will," he promptly responded, as he swooped down upon the wine. "Sherry!" He pronounced the word with a contortion of his fat face which might be construed into an indication of preference for some other beverage not immediately forthcoming; but he drank it, gulping down a glass at a swallow, nevertheless. Suddenly Miss Leo turned to Peckover. "You are not married?" she demanded with startling significance. "Not yet," he answered, blanching. "Engaged?" She stood over him breathing a fell design, her black eyes transfixing him, and seeming to wither his flippant courage to the very root. Still he made a feebly desperate effort to stave it off. "Not quite. Almost. Practically," he stammered. "That's a trifle," the lady returned with masterful decisiveness. "Easily got over." Then to his relief she turned her blighting gaze from him and directed it meditatively to the expanse of park beyond the window. "I think," she said musingly, "that in any event I see my way out." "Yes, that is the best way out," murmured Peckover as loudly as he dared, following her gaze. But she ignored the rash speech, and for some moments the silence was broken only by the smacking of Mr. Leo's lips as he endeavoured to impart gusto into his occupation. Peckover, dreading the next words, was about to call attention to the beauty of the landscape when Miss Leo suddenly turned upon him, and, as though struck by an exceptionally brilliant idea, said--"In the event of my not being Lady Quorn, why should I not marry you?" "Oh, bother!" Peckover was startled into the expression of disagreement. "Why should you?" he objected manfully. "If I set my mind upon it," she said, with a dangerous look in her eye. "Please take it off," he protested. "Lord Quorn is my friend; he saved my life, I could not be so base as to rob him of you." "No," the lady replied dryly, "you wouldn't if I wanted him. But I'm not so sure about it. Anyhow, in case the poor fellow doesn't get better, why, he couldn't complain." "No, that would be my work," Peckover reflected anxiously. "Weak stuff, this," exclaimed Mr. Leo. "Brandy neat is my sauce. Can't taste sherry." "It's not for want of trying," Peckover thought, as he noticed the almost empty decanter, but he did not say so. "Isn't he a fine fellow?" murmured Miss Leo, with an unwelcome approach to affectionate confidence. "Be nice to him and he'll soon take to you." "He has soon taken to the sherry," was Peckover's mental commentary. "Strong as a lion," said Lalage, waxing enthusiastic. "And thirsty as a dozen," Peckover told himself. "Carnaby, dear," his sister called sweetly, "I want you and Mr. Gage to be great friends. We are so already," she added caressingly to the unhappy Peckover; "more than friends, eh?" "Don't seem to have lost much time," was her brother's not unnatural comment as he leered at their victim.