The party, too, was small, and though Conrad was of the number, he held aloof from Monica, for which she was glad, for she had felt an increasing distrust of him of late. It was an equestrian party, and the long ride was a pleasure to Monica, who could have spent a whole day in the saddle without fatigue. And then her husband was coming. He would set all right. She would tell him everything—she had not felt able to do so in the little brief notes she had written to him—and she would take his advice for the future, and decline friendship with all who could not be his friends too. Everything would be right when Randolph came back. Then Monica was glad of an opportunity of a little quiet talk with Cecilia Bellamy. The wish for a private interview with her had been one of the reasons which had led her to consent to be one of to-day’s party. She had something on her mind she wished to say to her in private, and as yet she had found no opportunity of doing so. Yet it was not until quite late in the afternoon that Monica’s opportunity came; when it did, she availed herself of it at once. She and her friend were alone in a quiet part of the park; nobody was very near to them. “Cecilia,” said Monica, “there is something I wish to say to you now that we are alone together. I am very much obliged to you for being so friendly during my husband’s absence—but—but—it is difficult to say what I mean—but I think you ought not to have had your brother so much with you when you were asking me; or rather I think, as he is your brother, whilst I am only a friend, the best plan would be for us to agree not to attempt to be very intimate. We have drifted apart with the lapse of years, and there are reasons, as you know, why it is not advisable for me to see much of your brother. I am sure you understand me without any more words.” “Oh, perfectly!” said Mrs. Bellamy with a light laugh. “Poor child, what an ogre he is! Well, at least, we have made the best of the little time he allowed us.” Monica drew herself up very straight. “I do not understand you, Cecilia. Please to remember that you are speaking of my husband.” Mrs. Bellamy laughed again. “I am in no danger of forgetting, my dear. Please do not trouble yourself to put on such old-fashioned airs with me; as if every one did not know your secret by this time.” Monica turned upon her with flashing eyes. “What secret?” “The secret of your unhappy marriage, my love. It was obviously a _mariage de convenance_ from the first, and you take no pains to disguise the fact that it will never be anything else. As Randolph Trevlyn is rather a fascinating man, there is only one rational interpretation to be put upon your persistent indifference.” Monica stood as if turned to stone. “What?”