If Lady Gwendolyn had been near Colonel Dacre she would not have dared to speak so frankly. But her position, if ridiculous, had its advantages, for she was out of the range of his keen glances, and the tremulous leaves had the benefit of her frequent blushes. For over a month now she had been longing to tell him this, but the courage had only come to-day. She was quite obliged to Farmer Bates’ bull for having frightened her up into the tree, and she did not mean to descend just yet. Colonel Dacre took a long time to digest her warning, but he spoke at last coolly enough. “Thank you, Lady Gwendolyn; but though I don’t quite agree with you about Mrs. O’Hara, I would sooner shoot myself than marry her. My friend was a noble fellow, and kept his counsel bravely to the end; but there was one thing that would always prevent me from falling in love with his widow.” “What is that?” “Because I should not like to stand in a dead man’s shoes, especially his. So, you see, I am safe, although Mrs. O’Hara has the double advantages of being a nonentity and a flatterer. Now will you let me help you down from your perch?” “Wait just one minute. I want to ask you a very impertinent question first, if I may.” “I grant you absolution beforehand,” he said, smiling, “on condition that you do not keep me in suspense.” “I want to know,” she began hesitatingly, “whether if--supposing Mrs. O’Hara had not been your friend’s widow----” “I should have cared for her?” put in the colonel, to help out her halting speech. “Is that what you mean?” “Yes; I am so absurdly curious, and I have always wondered if--if----” Here she came to a full stop in dire confusion, for she had been going to add, “if that is the sort of woman you would care for;” and suddenly perceived that this would not do at all. “I’ll answer your question when you are on terra firma,” replied Colonel Dacre, dodging to catch a glimpse of the piquant face among the leaves; “this is what I call a conversation under difficulties. By the by, you forgot to tell me why you got up there at all.” “Bates’ bull put its head over the railing, and looked at my red cloak so viciously I dared not pass him. I had often climbed this tree with Reggie when I was a little girl, and had managed to give Fraulein von Linder the slip; and so I thought I would try it again to-day; but a gown with a train is embarrassing.” “I expect it is,” he answered, with a droll look in his handsome eyes. “I should be sorry to go about the world crippled by my clothes as you women do.” “Oh, we don’t mind it, as a rule. One would rather suffer anything, you know, than be quite out of the fashion.” “Would one, indeed?” he returned, in a tone of grave commiseration. “It seems to me that fashion is the greatest despot the world ever knew; but I am thankful to say it is only women who yield so servilely to its exactions.”