"Playfellow—friend," she repeated, "do you believe that she will ever forget, or allow you to forget, that you were her old lover, her first love—she _won't_," she added with sudden passion. "She reminded me of it to-night, and declared that it was a bond between us." "Then, my dear Angel, I leave her entirely in your hands," rejoined Philip, with a smile. He had a rare but beautiful smile, inherited from his mother. "She is an odd creature; she has an embarrassing way of speaking her thoughts aloud. She thought that, and unawares it escaped her lips. Lola is not young, she has plenty of sense, she knows that fifteen years roll between the—the old days—and these, and that," now laying his hand impressively upon Angel's arm, "there are no birds—in last year's nest." "But——" she began excitedly. "But," he echoed, turning his head sharply, "here comes young Hailes, running after us. He little dreams that you and I are discussing abstract sentiment at eleven o'clock at night, in the middle of the parade-ground." "Oh, Mrs. Gascoigne," gasped Captain Hailes, breathlessly, "I believe this is yours—you dropped it on the road—just now." "Yes, and how very kind of you to take so much trouble—it really was not worth it," said Angel, who inwardly wished both glove and finder a thousand miles away. She was anxious to pursue the subject of Lola, her opportunities for a _tête-à-tête_ with Philip were so rare; and this odious but well-meaning Captain Hailes accompanied them all the way to their own gate. CHAPTER XXX A WHITED SEPULCHRE