They were sitting at lunch, and Faradeane had walked across to the Grange, and allowed himself to be persuaded to stay. “I want you to be my best man on Wednesday, Faradeane,” said Bradstone in an offhand way, and with a sidelong glance at Olivia. She kept her eyes fixed upon her plate, and did not see the swift change which came over Faradeane’s face. For a moment he was silent, and Bartley Bradstone, taking it for consent, went on, airily, “It isn’t a difficult part, I believe; anyway, I’m sure you’d play it capitally--wouldn’t he, squire?” The squire looked at the grave face, which had grown paler even than usual, but was perfectly calm and self-possessed. “Will you, Faradeane?” he said in his quiet way. Faradeane, carefully avoiding looking in Olivia’s direction, shook his head. “I feel honored by Bradstone’s request, sir, but I am sorry to say that I am engaged on Wednesday.” “What!” exclaimed Bartley Bradstone. “You don’t mean to say that you are not coming to the wedding? Why, I should fancy you will be the only man in the county who won’t be there--won’t he, Olivia?” She made a slight gesture which might mean anything, but did not raise her eyes. “Then my room will be more acceptable than my company,” said Faradeane, with a smile. “You will have no difficulty in getting some one to fill so honorable a post, Bradstone. I am sorry I cannot.” “Oh, but you must manage to come to the wedding and the breakfast--or whatever they call it now; it can’t very well be breakfast at half-past three o’clock in the afternoon. You must come, Faradeane--mustn’t he, Olivia?” She looked up for a moment, and past Faradeane, avoiding his eyes. “Mr. Faradeane says he is engaged,” she said, quietly. “Oh, but----” began Bradstone; but Faradeane stopped him with a certain compression of the lips which Bartley Bradstone remembered seeing on his face when he seized him by the arm outside the terrace. “It is impossible,” he said, almost curtly. Bartley Bradstone shrugged his shoulders. “I counted upon you,” he said. “But if you can’t, you can’t, and there’s an end of it. I’m awfully disappointed, and so’s Olivia, I’m sure.” Olivia said nothing, but, directly lunch was over, rose to leave the room. As she did so Faradeane took a morocco case from his pocket. “You must be quite tired of presents, Miss Vanley,” he said, “but I have ventured to bore you with one, if you will accept it,” and he placed the case in her hand, and turned aside to speak to Bradstone. “Eh?” said the squire, “let us see what it is, my dear,” and he put up his eyeglasses. She opened the case, her hands trembling and her color coming and going, and revealed a superb necklet of gems in an antique setting. It was no “wedding present” of the commonplace type, but evidently a rare and costly, perhaps priceless, specimen of ancient jewelry. The squire uttered an exclamation.