She was distinctly conscious of the increasing power of her own strength of purpose as she made this resolution, and as she walked across the park the next afternoon her feeling was one very near akin to elation. It is only the strong who mistrust their own power. Dora Glynde had always looked upon herself as a somewhat weak and easily led person; she was beginning to feel her own strength now and to rejoice in it. From the first she half-suspected a trap of some sort. Such a subterfuge was eminently characteristic of Mrs. Agar, and that lady's manner of welcoming her only increased the suspicion. The mistress of Stagholme was positively crackling with an excitement which even her best friend could not have called suppressed. There was no suppression whatever about it. “So good of you,” she panted, “to come, Dora dear!” And she searched madly for her pocket handkerchief. “Not at all,” replied Dora, very calmly. “And now, dear,” went on the lady of the house, “are we going to talk about it?” The question was somewhat futile, for it was easy to see that she was not in a condition to talk of anything else. “I think not,” replied Dora. She had a way of using the word “think” when she was positive. “The question was raised the last time I saw you, and I do not think that any good resulted from it.” Mrs. Agar's face dropped. In some ways she was a child still, and a childish woman of fifty is as aggravating a creature as walks upon this earth. Dora remembered every word of the interview referred to, while Mrs. Agar had almost forgotten it. It is to the common-minded that common proverbs and sayings of the people apply. Hard words had not the power of breaking anything in Mrs. Agar's being. “Of course,” she said, “_I_ don't wish to talk about it, if you don't. It is most painful to me.” She had dragged forward a second chair, only separated from that occupied by Dora by the tea-table. “Arthur,” she said, with a lamentable assumption of cheerfulness, “has driven over to East Burgen to get some things I wanted. He will not be back for ever so long.” She reflected that he was overdue at that moment, and that the butler had orders to send him to the library as soon as he returned. “I was sorry to hear,” said Dora, quite naturally, “that he had not passed his examination.” Mrs. Agar glanced at her cunningly; she was always looking for second meanings in the most innocent remarks, hardly guilty of an original meaning. At this moment the door leading through a smaller library into the dining-room opened and Arthur came quietly in. He changed colour and hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he remembered that before all things a gentleman must be a gentleman. He came forward and held out his hand. “How do you do?” he said, and for a moment he was quite dignified. “I am glad to see you here with mother. I did not know that I was going to interrupt a _téte-à-téte_, tea. No tea, thanks, mother; no.”