the idea that the peccant Englishman was the object of her affection. Then, as she dropped that subject of questioning, he, in order to draw her out, went on: “But my dear Judy it was not possible that we could have seen him. He has not seemed particularly anxious to meet us; and even if he was anxious he could not have done it as he did not know where we were.” “Oh, yes he did!” The Colonel was surprised; the tone of her words carried conviction of truthfulness. He answered quickly: “He did! How on earth do you know that?” Judy in her emotional interest answered without thinking. “Because I told him so!” “Oh, you saw him then?” Again she answered without thought: “No, but I wrote to him.” “How do you know that he got your letter?” “Because he answered it!” She would have given all she possessed to have been silent or to have answered more discreetly when she saw her brother-in-law’s face wrinkle into a hard smile, and noted the cruel keenness of his eyes and the cynical smile on his mouth. She answered sharply; and, as is usual, began the instant after, to pay the penalty for such sharpness. His voice seemed to rasp her very soul as he said: “I am glad to hear that the gentleman has consideration for some one--even a lady--who writes to him. But to my mind such but emphasises his rudeness--if for the moment I may call it so--of his conduct to others. As for myself when I meet the gentleman--should I ever have the good fortune to do so--I shall require him to answer for this insult--amongst others!” “Insult?” murmured Judy in a panic of apprehension. “Yes, my dear Judith. There is no stronger word; had there been I should have used it. When the same man who does _not_ answer my letters, or write even to accept or decline my proffered hospitality carries on at the same time a clandestine correspondence with ladies of my family he shall have to answer to me for it. By God he shall!” Judy thought silence wiser than any form of words, and remained mute. Colonel Ogilvie went on in the same cold, rasping voice: “May I ask you, Miss Hayes,”--“Miss Hayes, my God!” thought poor Judy trembling. He went on: “if my daughter has had any meeting or correspondence with him?” “No! No! No!” cried Judy. “I can answer for that.” “Indeed! May I ask how you can speak with certainty on such a subject. I thought you were in Italy and that my daughter had been with me.” In despair she spoke impulsively: “I don’t _know_, Lucius. How could I--I only think so.”