Yet one trifling incident occurred to disturb her peace of mind, although she thought she possibly dwelt upon it more than the circumstance warranted. She was at a large luncheon party, to which her hostess and guests had alike been invited to meet many other parties from surrounding houses. A grand battue in the park had drawn away most of the sportsmen, and the ladies were lunching almost by themselves. Monica’s surprise was somewhat great to find in her right-hand neighbour none other than Cecilia Bellamy, with whom her last interview had been anything but agreeable. Mrs. Bellamy, however, seemed to have forgotten all about that. “It is really you, Monica. I hoped I should meet you somewhere; I heard you were staying about; I know I’ve behaved badly. I ought to have written to you when your father died. I was awfully sorry, I was indeed. We were always fond of the earl, Conrad and I. He was so good to us when we were children. It was horrid of me not to write, but I never do know how to write a letter of condolence. I hope you’re not very angry with me.” “Indeed, no,” answered Monica. “Indeed, I never thought about it.” “I knew you wouldn’t care to hear from me,” pursued the lively little woman. “I didn’t behave nicely to you, Monica, and I’m sorry now I listened to Conrad’s persuasions; but I’m so easy-going, and thought it all fun. I’m sorry now. I really am, for I’ve got shaken in my confidence in Master Conrad. I believe he’ll go to the dogs still, for all his professions. By-the-bye, did you ever see him after you got back to Trevlyn?” “Once or twice. I believe he was living in his house down there.” “That dreadful old barn! I can’t think how he can exist there. He will take to drink, and go mad, I do believe, if he stays six months in such a place. Monica, I don’t want to frighten you—I may be silly to think such a thing, but I can’t believe he’s after any good there.” Monica shivered a little instinctively. “What do you mean?” “I don’t quite know what I do mean. If you weren’t such an old friend, of course I couldn’t say a word; but you know perhaps that there’s something rather odd sometimes about Conrad.” “Odd?” “Yes—I know he’s bad enough; but it’s when he has his odd fits on that he’s worse. I don’t believe he is always altogether responsible. He’s given way, and now he can’t always help himself, I do think. He isn’t mad, of course, but he can be very wild at times,” and she glanced at her companion with something of significance. “Why do you say all this to me?” asked Monica, with a sort of apprehension. Mrs. Bellamy laughed a little. “Why, can’t you see? Don’t you know how he hates your husband?” Monica’s face blanched a little. “But you don’t mean——”