Just then the Black Prince shied as we rode across the shadow of a gigantic oak-tree, and we were so close together that our horses' heads nearly touched. One of her shapely hands was hanging carelessly down, toying with her whip, and, scarcely knowing what I did, I caught hold of it and held it to my lips. She drew it away, but she might have drawn it away a second sooner had she chosen. "You are a presumptuous boy," she said, looking at me with a curious, half-puzzled light in her glorious eyes. "If you don't behave yourself I shall begin to be sorry that I sent Lord Annerley away. He wouldn't have done such a stupid thing as that, I'm sure." "He'd better not," I said, fiercely. She laughed mockingly. I would have given anything to have been able to keep back the words which were fast rising from my swelling heart to my lips, but I seemed to have lost all control over myself. A fatal, irresistible impulse was luring me on. "Maud----" "_Mr._ Arbuthnot," with a stress upon the Mr. I leaned over to her, and strove to look into her face, but she kept it turned from me. "Maud, dearest!" She turned round suddenly, with a curious contradiction of expressions in her face. Her eyes still seemed to mock me with a delusive tenderness, but her lips were close set, and her head thrown proudly back. "That is quite enough, Mr. Arbuthnot! Must I remind you again that I am not Lady Olive? I have never studied the art of flirting, and I don't think I'll begin with you. You're far too accomplished." In vain I tried to analyse the look she threw me as she struck her horse sharply, and rode away from me. It was contemptuous and tender, angry and laughing, serious and mocking. I dug spurs into Black Prince's side; but he was done up, whilst she was on her second horse. It was not until we were actually in the shrubbery grounds that I caught her up. "One word, Miss Devereux," I begged, riding up to her side, "you are not angry with me?" She looked into my eager face and laughed a low mocking laugh, which maddened me to listen to. The moon was shining full upon her loose coils of fair hair and exquisite profile, bathing her in its silvery light, and making her look like a marvellous piece of statuary, perfectly beautiful, but cold as marble. My heart sank as I looked into her face, and I turned away in despair. "Maud, you are a flirt," I cried. "Mr. Arbuthnot," she replied, impressively, "people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." CHAPTER XVIII A STRANGE INTERVIEW The sun had gone down behind a bank of angry, leaden-coloured clouds, which were fast spreading over the whole surface of the sky. Only here and there a stunted, half-grown, and leafless oak-tree stretched out its naked branches towards the darkening sky, and within a yard or two of me there was a miserable apology for a cottage.