"I have no doubt she is very wonderful--and she is the fashion, which goes for a great deal," answered Miss Bridgeman; but never a word in praise of Stella Mayne could Christabel extort from her. She--who, educated by Shepherd's Bush and poverty, was much more advanced in knowledge of evil than the maiden from beyond Tamar--suspected that some sinister influence was to be feared in Stella Mayne. Why else had the Major so doggedly opposed their visit to this particular theatre? Why else did he look so glum when Stella Mayne was spoken about? CHAPTER VIII. LE SECRET DE POLICHINELLE. The next day but one was Thursday--an afternoon upon which Mrs. Tregonell was in the habit of staying at home to receive callers, and a day on which her small drawing-rooms were generally filled with more or less pleasant people--chiefly of the fairer sex--from four to six. The three rooms--small by degrees and beautifully less--the old-fashioned furniture and profusion of choicest flowers--lent themselves admirably to gossip and afternoon tea, and were even conducive to mild flirtation, for there was generally a sprinkling of young men of the FitzPelham type--having nothing particular to say, but always faultless in their dress, and well-meaning as to their manners. On this afternoon--which to Christabel seemed a day of duller hue and colder atmosphere than all previous Thursdays, on account of Angus Hamleigh's absence--there were rather more callers than usual. The season was ripening towards its close. Some few came to pay their last visit, and to inform Mrs. Tregonell and her niece about their holiday movements--generally towards the Engadine or some German Spa--the one spot of earth to which their constitution could accommodate itself at this time of year. "I am obliged to go to Pontresina before the end of July," said a ponderous middle-aged matron to Miss Courtenay. "I can't breathe any where else in August and September." "I think you would find plenty of air at Boscastle," said Christabel, smiling at her earnestness; "but I dare say the Engadine is very nice!" "Five thousand feet above the level of the sea," said the matron proudly. "I like to be a little nearer the sea--to see it--and smell it--and feel its spray upon my face," answered Christabel. "Do you take your children with you?" "Oh, no, they all go to Ramsgate with the governess and a maid." "Poor little things! And how sad for you to know that there are all those mountain passes--a three days' journey--between you and your children." "Yes, it is very trying!" sighed the mother; "but they are so fond of Ramsgate; and the Engadine is the only place that suits me." "You have never been to Chagford?" "Chagford! No; what is Chagford?" "A village upon the edge of Dartmoor--all among the Devonshire hills. People go there for the fine bracing air. I can't help thinking it must do them almost as much good as the Engadine."