“She chanced to weary of the swords, and on a voyage of further discovery came across your photograph, in the place of honour, on my desk.” A pleased gleam passed through her eyes. “Ah!” she said, “and she was angry because she is in love with you.” “On the contrary, she hates me even more than you.” Owen frowned and looked incredulous. “Now you are talking riddles again—how silly you are! If she hates you, why did she go into your den, and why was she angry with me? I believe you are making the whole thing up.” “I am not. I do not think she spoke half a dozen civil words to me after the dance, and when I came away she would not shake hands. She told me she much preferred my room to my company.” “Really?” with dawning interest. “Really,” emphatically. “Well, she’s rather interesting after all,” said Gwen, “for no doubt you are the eligible man of the neighbourhood.” “She wouldn’t care a snap of the fingers for that.” “Not any more than I do for the woolly lamb’s coronet?” “Exactly. Now you are getting at the resemblance.” “But you haven’t yet told me why she hates you and me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not very clear,” he answered, “and anyhow it would be too tedious to try and explain. It’s a trifle enough anyway. Hullo!” breaking off, “isn’t that your baa-lamb I hear?” Gwen listened with her head on one side. “Yes, that’s his bleat,” she said. “Mamma will lead him in by a blue ribbon, so to speak, in a minute, and I shall want desperately to recite: “‘Mummie had a woolly lamb, Its fleece was white as snow, But ’twas everywhere that Gwennie went That lamb would always go.’” She jumped up and commenced patting her hair into place and straightening the lace of her dress, remarking that, after all said and done, there was no harm in captivating. A moment later her mother came in looking worried. “My dear,” she said, “Earl Selloyd wishes to speak to you alone. He is in the library.” “Good Heaven!” exclaimed Gwen. “Has it come to this!” “It’s very wrong to speak of it in that way,” said her mother reprovingly. “I’m sure I don’t know where the girls of the present day get their queer manners from. Do try and realise that Earl Selloyd has come here this afternoon to pay you the greatest honour it is in the power of any man to pay to any woman.” “Baa—a—a—a,” mimicked Gwen wickedly, and Lawrence bit his lip. “At least then, remember that you are a gentlewoman,” continued Mrs Carew severely, “or that Providence intended you for one.”