"My lord, Mr Dale tells me news that will interest you." "Indeed, madame, and what?" "Why, that he has begged the King's leave to resign his commission. Doesn't it surprise you?" He looked at her, at me, and again at her. He was caught, for I knew that he had been fully acquainted with my purpose. He gathered himself together to answer her. "Nay, I knew," he said, "and had ventured to applaud Mr Dale's resolution. But it did not come into my mind to speak of it." "Strange," said she, "when we were deploring that Mr Dale should obtain his commission by such means!" She rested her eyes on him steadily, while her lips were set in a scornful smile. A pause followed her words. "I daresay I should have mentioned it, had we not passed to another topic," said he at last and sullenly enough. Then, attempting a change in tone, he added, "Won't you rejoin us?" "I am very well here," she said. He waited a moment, then bowed, and left us. He was frowning heavily, and, as I judged, would have greeted another quarrel with me very gladly, had I been minded to give him an opportunity; but thinking it fair that I should be cured from the first encounter before I faced a second, I held my peace till he was gone; then I said to Barbara, "I wonder he didn't tell you." Alas for my presumption! The anger that had been diverted on to Carford's head swept back to mine. "Indeed, why should he?" she cried. "All the world can't be always thinking of you and your affairs, Mr Dale." "Yet you were vexed because he hadn't." "I vexed! Not I!" said Barbara haughtily. I could not make that out; she had seemed angry with him. But because I spoke of her anger, she was angry now with me. Indeed I began to think that little Charles, the King, and I had been right in that opinion in which the King found us so much of a mind. Suddenly Barbara spoke. "Tell me what she is like, this friend of yours," she said. "I have never seen her." It leapt to my lips to cry, "Ay, you have seen her!" but I did not give utterance to the words. Barbara had seen her in the park at Hatchstead, seen her more than once, and more than once found sore offence in what she saw. There is wisdom in silence; I was learning that safety might lie in deceit. The anger under which I had suffered would be doubled if she knew that Cydaria was Nell and Nell Cydaria. Why should she know? Why should my own mouth betray me and add my bygone sins to the offences of to-day? My lord had not told her that Nell was Cydaria. Should I speak where my lord was silent? Neither would I tell her of Cydaria. "You haven't seen her?" I asked. "No; and I would learn what she is like."