The removal of his beard had entirely changed Laurence Wynne’s appearance. He looked much younger: he had a very square chin, his mouth was expressive--more sarcastic than smiling--with thin, firmly closed, but well-cut lips. Had she known of that mouth and chin, had she guessed at them--well, she would have thought twice before she married their proprietor. As she looked up she coloured to her hair when she met his steady, cool glance. This meeting was no surprise to him, for he had noted the _entrée_ of the beauty, her marvellous costume, and her train of admirers. He had not, however, intended to come to such close quarters. He was taken unawares when he found himself in her neighbourhood, and he was determined to escape immediately, in spite of Lady Rachel. The silence that followed Lady Rachel’s loud prattle was becoming noticeable, and curious eyes were turned upon him when he said very distinctly-- “I don’t know if I am so fortunate as to be remembered by--Miss West?” “Oh yes,” she answered, rather obviously avoiding looking at him, with a bright patch of colour on either cheek. “Miss West has such an enormous acquaintance of young men that she must get a little confused sometimes--a little mixed, don’t you, Maddie? Now, Mr. Wynne, I see what you are up to,” said Lady Rachel; “but no, you shall not run away. Here, sit upon this chair. I had great difficulty in capturing you, you are so run-after and spoilt, and now I am not going to let you desert. You ought to be thankful for a seat in the shade, and amongst such pleasant company!” As he reluctantly seated himself at the very outskirts of the group, she continued--“Now, you must not sit there looking like a snared animal, watching for some chance of escape. Do tell me all about the heroine of your last story. How is it that you are so familiar with all our little ways, and weaknesses? You know too much. One would almost suppose that you were a married man!” “I think it must be time to go to tea,” said Madeline, glancing appealingly at her father, who had just joined them. “Tea! Don’t you wish you may get it! There is not a single vacant table on the lawn. I’ve just been to look. Hullo! Ah--er--Wynne, how do you do?” Mr. Wynne had been pointed out to him as a rising junior at the bar--a coming man in literature, who wielded an able pen, and was quite one of the season’s minor celebrities. His sketches were a feature of the day--a short one, naturally. Every one was talking of him. Mr. West loved a celebrity--if he was gentlemanly and in good society, _bien entendu_--nearly as much as he loved a lord, but not quite; and he added-- “I remember you were at our house last winter, and you are interested in paintings and art. You must look us up, eh?--and come and dine.” “Thank you. You are very kind.” “We’ve just come back from the Riviera. Delightful place! Were you ever there?” “No, I’ve never been nearer to it than Lyons.”