“You can pay compliments, and that is all Clara cares about,” responded the countess, who had by no means a high opinion of her own sex. Then she went forward to greet the young lady herself with great affection, kissing her on both cheeks, and congratulating her upon the effect of her new hat, leaving the colonel quite bewildered and pained in his heart, for he had always had a chivalrous respect for women, and it grieved him to know that even one could be so false. He had to take Clara Handley into luncheon, and exerted himself to be agreeable, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and he was glad when the meal was over. When the whole party adjourned to the grounds to play lawn-tennis, he shook hands with Lord Teignmouth, and slipped quietly away. He was just congratulating himself upon having paid Lady Teignmouth a little trick as anticipative vengeance for the one he suspected her of having planned for him, when he suddenly found himself face to face with the countess herself. “I just ran away for a minute from the others to wish you good-by, and bon voyage,” she said, her whole face in a glitter of malicious delight. “I am sure you will enjoy yourself up there, the country is so picturesque. Give my love to Gwen, and tell her that directly she is tired of solitude, I shall be happy to chaperon her anywhere.” Shaking himself to get rid of the disagreeable impression her ladyship had left behind, Colonel Dacre rode rapidly toward home, and scarcely felt safe from Lady Teignmouth’s shafts until he found himself once more in the library of Borton Hall. CHAPTER IV. TUROY GRANGE. The address Lady Teignmouth had given Colonel Dacre was Turoy Grange, near Westhampton, Yorkshire; and after looking out for Westhampton on the map, and settling the route he ought to take, he rang the bell, and told the butler to pack his traveling-bag and order the carriage for the four-o’clock train. “I sha’n’t be gone more than three or four days,” added the colonel, seeing the other looked surprised. “You may confidently expect me by Saturday at the latest.” It was to be hoped Graham did not take his master quite at his word, for a great many Saturdays would come and go before Colonel Dacre would cross his own threshold again. Indeed, he little suspected what this journey was to bring forth, or he would have counter-ordered his dog-cart assuredly, tossed Lady Teignmouth’s card into the waste-basket, and made up his mind to await calmly the issue of events, and abide by the result. However, four o’clock saw the “gallant colonel”--as the local newspaper always designated him--stepping into a first-class carriage at Borton Station, bound for “fair London town,” en route for Turoy Grange, near Westhampton, Yorkshire.