"This is mine," he murmured, and he put it in his coat. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "And this is how you keep our secret! Do you not think every eye would notice that great rose, and know whence it came?" "Yes, yes, I see," he said. "After all, a woman is the one for a secret--the man is not in the field; but then it will be safe here," and he put the rose inside the breast of his coat. Then trying to look as if nothing had happened, trying to look as if the whole world had not become changed for her, Stella sauntered into the drawing-room by his side. And it really seemed as if no one had noticed their entrance. Stella felt inclined to congratulate herself, not taking into consideration the usages of high breeding, which enable so many people to look as if they were unaware of an entrance which they had been expecting for an hour since. "No one seems to notice," she whispered behind her fan, but Lord Leycester smiled--he knew better. She walked up the room, and Lord Leycester stopped before a picture and pointed to it; but he did not speak of the picture--instead, he murmured: "Will you meet me by the stile by the river to-morrow evening, Stella?" "Yes," she murmured. "I will bring the boat, and we will row down the stream. Will you come at six o'clock?" "Yes," she said again. If he asked her to meet him on the banks of the Styx, she would have answered as obediently. Then Mr. Etheridge approached with the countess, and before he could speak Lord Leycester took the bull by the horns, as it were. "Lilian is delighted with the sketch," he said. "We left her filled with gratitude, did we not Miss Etheridge?" Stella inclined her head. The large, serene eyes of the countess seemed to penetrate to the bottom of her heart and read her--their--secret already. "I think we must be going, Stella; the fly has been waiting some time," said her uncle in his quiet fashion. "So soon!" murmured the countess. But Mr. Etheridge glanced at the clock with a smile, and Stella held out her hand. As she did so, she felt rather than saw the graceful form of Lady Lenore coming toward them. "Are you going, Miss Etheridge?" she said, her clear voice full of regret. "We have seen so little of you; and I meant to ask you so much about Italy. I am so sorry." And as she spoke, she looked full into poor Stella's eyes. For a moment Stella was silent and downcast, then she raised her eyes and held out her hand. "It is late," she murmured. "Yes, we must go." As she looked up, she met the gaze of the violet eyes, and almost started, for there seemed to be shining in them a significant smile of mocking scorn and contemptuous amusement; they seemed to say, quite plainly: "You think that no one knows your secret. You think that you have triumphed, that you have won him. Poor simple child, poor fool. Wait and see!" If ever eyes spoke, this is what Lady Lenore's seemed to say in that momentary glance, and as Stella turned aside, her face paled slightly.