“The only one of all that would not care.” A sudden flush came to her face. She leaned forward a little, and spoke three words: “_Who is Kit?_” It fairly took him aback. He was so startled that for a moment he could not answer. “Kit!” he stammered then. “You are my husband’s friend,” she said--“in his confidence; you know and have shared, no doubt, the secrets of his past. Was it not enough to force upon me the daily insult of this Davis creature’s presence, but he must make a jest through her lips of other infamies in which it seems they were both implicated? Who is this Kit, I say?” Now, one thing, in his astonishment, was made clear to Hamilton. Kate was as innocent of Kit as Kit of Kate. That reassurance was consoling, though it left him more confounded than ever as to the identity of the strange being. “On my honour, cousin,” he said, “I have no idea.” “You have not?” “Not a shadow of one. But, whoever she is, if she she is, what reason have you to connect Phil with her?” She made a sound of scorn. “What reason? Am I deaf and blind to all hints and innuendoes--to their conspiracy to mock me with veiled references to the part she has played in his life? O, reason, indeed!” “I think, on my soul, you are letting your imagination master you. Has he ever really confessed to this Kit?” “You did not hear him? No, it was before you came. He did as much, referring to her as the substance of happiness for which he had exchanged its shadow--the shadow--the wife--O, I am in truth a shadow of a wife!” “Then, I say, if that be so, he deserves no mercy.” “I intend to show him none.” “Give me the rose, then.” “Why do you want it? In reward of your disinterestedness?” “Just that.” She gazed at him a moment--a fathomless look; then--O, woman, microcosm of all incomprehensibilities!--detached a bud from the group and held it out to him. He received it in rapture, and dared to put it to his lips. But at that she flushed pink, and turned from him. “I will ride alone,” she murmured. “Nay, do not press me further.” He forbore to. It suited his plans to remain behind, and he let her go without protest. And the moment he was sure of her departure he went to seek Mrs. Davis. His veins were hot; there was a glaze over his eyes. “She hath put foot within the magic circle,” he thought, “and I have her.” He went to find a servant, and to dispatch him in quest of Mrs. Moll. The baggage came down to him presently into the great room, and, when they were left alone together, danced gleefully up to him and dropped a curtsey. “Is not that to the manner?” she said. “Or is it the bong tong to offer you my cheek?” “Come,” he said, with a shadow of impatience. “I want to have a serious talk with you.” “Lud! What mischief have I been up to?” “Not mischief enough--that is my complaint.” “Well, that’s easy remedied.” “Is it? I’m beginning to doubt.” “Ah! You don’t know me.” “You are enjoying yourself here, are you not?”