Several times in the course of the meal she was struck by the strange expression on Sir Douglas Gerant’s face; there was a glow of animation, a look of eagerness that surprised her, and she decided mentally that he was pondering some great problem, when she saw his brows darken and his jaw set with determination. She herself had many momentous thoughts troubling her; but her manner was placidly serene. She was awaiting her opportunity to speak alone with Mrs. Crosbie, and thought to effect her purpose immediately after luncheon. In this, however, she was foiled; her aunt was claimed by the housekeeper on account of domestic affairs, and it was past four o’clock before she was liberated. At last Vane saw her chance. She had seated herself in the colonnade, which was a favorite lounge for the whole house in summer-time, and from here she could see all who came and went. To outward appearance she was absorbed in her book; but in reality she was keenly alive to everything passing around, listening for the first tones of her aunt’s voice, and wondering during the moments of her watch what was causing the struggle in Sir Douglas Gerant’s breast as he walked to and fro beneath the shade of the trees in the distance. Vane did not look up as she saw her aunt approach; but she gave Mrs. Crosbie a smile when she addressed her. “So I hear, Vane, that you have been nursing Stuart, and with good results. I have just met Andrews, and he tells me his master has slept nearly all the afternoon; he will soon recover, now, I hope.” “I hope so, indeed,” said Vane, softly. She pushed forward a chair as she spoke; then, as her aunt sank into it, she said, quietly: “Aunt Constance, I want to speak to you. I said before luncheon that I had an errand to perform in the village, but I did not say what that errand was. I will tell you now.” “Do you think I look curious, Vane?” laughed Mrs. Crosbie, her handsome features wearing an air of satisfaction and pleasure as her gaze rested on her niece. “I am going to see Margery Daw,” Vane said, slowly, letting her eyes wander across the sunlit lawn, but not before she saw a look of surprise dawn on her aunt’s face. “See Margery Daw!” repeated Mrs. Crosbie. “Why, Vane?” “Because Stuart has asked me to go.” “Stuart!” breathed his mother, half rising from her chair. “What do you mean, Vane?” “I mean, aunt, that Stuart loves Margery Daw, and says he will make her his wife.” For a time there was no reply from Mrs. Crosbie, and Vane, turning, saw a heavy frown on her handsome face. “You are jesting, of course, Vane?” she said, at last. “Indeed, Aunt Constance, I am not,” returned Miss Charteris, quietly. “My news surprises you?” “Surprises!” repeated Mrs. Crosbie. “I fail to understand you at all.” Vane rose and knelt beside her aunt. “Auntie, dear,” she said, gently, “you must not be hard on poor Stuart. Recollect, he has eyes, and this girl is beautiful. I have seen her, and love is----”