“Why will you harp upon that miserable subject? I do not question you upon your past.” “You have no right,” she said haughtily. A sudden glow crept into his face; his eyes shone with triumph. “You think that you have a right to know mine, then, Lady Gwendolyn?” She saw then what inference she had favored, and grew crimson to the very roots of her hair under his searching, impassioned gaze. Amazed at her own embarrassment, she answered petulantly: “I wish you would let me rest, Colonel Dacre. I might as well have had Mrs. Whittaker if you were going to gossip like this.” “I beg your pardon,” he answered, with a formal bow; “I forget that I might be boring you. What message shall I give Lady Teignmouth from you?” “None whatever, thank you. Say what you think fit. She is sure to be shocked, anyhow, for she is the most unmitigated prude I ever knew; but she will recover herself in time, I dare say. Will you kindly hand me a book before you go?” He chose one that he thought would interest her, placed it on a little table beside her sofa, with very evident pleasure in the service, and then, remembering Lot’s wife, he left the room without once looking back. Lord Teignmouth’s park adjoined his, and he had not far to go; but, on reaching the house, he heard, to his dismay, that his lordship and wife had driven out together to make some calls, and were not expected home until six o’clock. Of course he could not confide his errand to the butler, and, therefore, he simply said that he would call again later, and took his way toward the village. But, as luck would have it, Doctor Thurlow was also absent, having been sent for a few minutes before he arrived; and, as his patient lived nearly eight miles off, there was not much chance of his being back for an hour and a half, at least. Colonel Dacre began to think that everything was conspiring to drive him crazy. He might reasonably have counted upon taking back one of the three people he had gone to fetch, and so setting Lady Gwendolyn right with the world, supposing her adventure got wind; and not knowing what to do now, he decided to walk back to the Hall as quickly as possible, and hear what his guest wished done. He began to see now that it was a mistake to have taken her there at all. If he had only carried her into Bates’ house, nothing could possibly have been said--only that people always think of these brilliant expedients when it is too late to carry them into effect, and as it had not suggested itself to Lady Gwendolyn she could hardly blame him for his forgetfulness. He had left the door ajar, and stole into the house unperceived. Perhaps in his heart of hearts he was not sorry that he should have another tête-à-tête with Lady Gwendolyn, though he would not have confessed as much even to himself, so anxious was he to be honorable even in thought.