He showed Miss Gilletson all the family tombs. He escorted her from the church. Under renewed vows of secrecy he induced her to enter Scarsmoor. Once in the gardens, the good lady was lost. They had no such roses at Nab Grange! Lynborough insisted on sending an enormous bouquet to the Vicar's wife in Miss Gilletson's name--and Miss Gilletson grew merry as she pictured the mystification of the Vicar's wife. For Miss Gilletson herself he superintended the selection of a nosegay of the choicest blooms; they laughed again together when she hid them in a large bag she carried--destined for the tea and tobacco which represented her little charities. Then--after pausing for one private word in his gardener's ear, which caused a boy to be sent off post-haste to the stables--he led her to the road, and in vain implored her to honor his house by setting foot in it. There the fear of the Marchesa or (it is pleasanter to think) some revival of the sense of youth, bred by Lynborough's deferential courtliness, prevailed. They came together through his lodge gates; and Miss Gilletson's face suddenly fell. "That wretched gate!" she cried. "It's locked--and I haven't got the key." "No more have I, I'm sorry to say," said Lynborough. He, on his part, had forgotten nothing. "It's nearly two miles round by the road--and so hot and dusty!--Really Helena does cut off her nose to spite her face!" Though, in truth, it appeared rather to be Miss Gilletson's nose the Marchesa had cut off. A commiserating gravity sat on Lord Lynborough's attentive countenance. "If I were younger, I'd climb that wall," declared Miss Gilletson. "As it is--well, but for your lovely flowers, I'd better have gone the other way after all." "I don't want you to feel that," said he, almost tenderly. "I must walk!" "Oh no, you needn't," said Lynborough. As he spoke, there issued from the gates behind them a luxurious victoria, drawn by two admirable horses. It came to a stand by Lynborough, the coachman touching his hat, the footman leaping to the ground. "Just take Miss Gilletson to the Grange, Williams. Stop a little way short of the house. She wants to walk through the garden." "Very good, my lord." "Put up the hood, Charles. The sun's very hot for Miss Gilletson." "Yes, my lord." "Nobody'll see you if you get out a hundred yards from the door--and it's really better than tramping the road on a day like this. Of course, if Beach Path were open--!" He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. Fear of the Marchesa struggled in Miss Gilletson's heart with the horror of the hot and tiring walk--with the seduction of the shady, softly rolling, speedy carriage. "If I met Helena!" she whispered; and the whisper was an admission of reciprocal confidence. "It's the chance of that against the certainty of the tramp!" "She didn't come down to breakfast this morning----" "Ah, didn't she?" Lynborough made a note for his Intelligence Department.