“That he was probably in the Army, that he is in disgrace with his family, and came to hide himself in Ottinge till the storm, whatever it was, blew over! and that a tall dark lady came to meet him at Brodfield, and even at the Drum.” “How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Ramsay. “I saw her--I saw him kissing a woman at the Drum as I passed; all Ottinge might have done the same! Their shadows were on the blind. I saw him and the woman drive away; they passed me in a motor, he, leaning back delightfully at his ease, and she bending over him as if she adored him! And this is not second-hand news, for I witnessed it myself.” “Why should you be so furious, Aurea? Aurea, _I_ know why!” and her tone was vibrating and sarcastic. The girl turned upon her with flashing eyes; but, before she could speak, Mrs. Ramsay said-- “You say your news is first-hand--so is mine; I promised to keep Mr. Wynyard’s secret.” “Oh yes, I knew his name was Wynyard,” interrupted Aurea. “Of course--my poor old man uttered it with his last breath. He was fond of Owen; he mistook him for his friend and schoolfellow--Owen’s father--and Owen allowed him to think so. I pledged myself to silence, but even _he_ would permit me to break it now. The lady who came to see Owen, and who has so excited your wrath, was”--speaking very deliberately--“his sister, Lady Kesters.” Aurea’s tortoiseshell brush fell to the floor with a resounding clang. Then, in a very few words, Mrs. Ramsay--impulsive, eloquent, and Irish--laid the whole story of Sir Richard’s bargain before the girl, who stood listening as if in a dream. “Mr. Wynyard was so good to my poor husband, and, indeed, to me, I’ll never, never forget it. And, you see, Jimmy knew his father and mother, whom he could not remember, and one night in the dusk, just before I left, he told me his whole story. Of course I had always known he was the son of Captain Wynyard, and that he himself had been in the Red Hussars, but I did _not_ know why he was earning his bread as your aunts’ chauffeur! He never said a word of you, but I understood--I realised the attraction that kept him, a young man of the world, in out-of-the-way Ottinge. He opened his heart to me that August night, and now, Aurea, you have broken it.” “I?” “Don’t pretend,” she cried passionately, and she looked at her almost threateningly; “don’t add to your sins. _You_ know as well as I do how you treated him--certainly not as a lady should do; why, if I were to meet one of the Brodfield fly-drivers here I’d give him a civil greeting. You were outrageously rude--you overdid it. My only comfort is that, to be so jealous, you must have been extremely fond of him.” Aurea coloured--she could blush furiously--and her complexion was very pink indeed, as seen through long strands of hair. Then she sat down rather suddenly, and said-- “What’s done is done--and never can be undone!” and buried her face in her hands.