Gerald objected to his company, now that he had resolved on appropriating the beautiful Lois himself. Hitherto he had never really noticed how often or how long Frank lingered by Miss Turquand. To-day he swelled and fumed like some ruffled turkey-cock, as Frank persisted in walking by the young girl’s left hand, as he displayed the grace and elegance of his irreproachably dressed person on her right. Lady Quaintree had meant to keep Lois near her own side, but was obliged to loiter behind the three young people, while a dowager friend poured some matronly confidence into her unwilling ear. It was a lovely afternoon, and the sun glittered down his smiles on the gay throng, sitting in flowerlike groups, or lingering over the sward. The stroll was not a very lively one for the three somewhat ill-matched companions. Frank Amberley’s heart was full of despairing love and pain. Gerald Danvers was in a downright rage. Lois felt worried and distrait. The two young men wished each other at Jericho, or the Arctic regions, and Miss Turquand would not have been sorry to see herself quit of their uncongenial company. At a sudden turn they came upon Captain Desfrayne, who had just entered the gardens. He met them so unexpectedly that Lois was taken by surprise, and so was he. They stood for a moment staring at one another, then Paul Desfrayne recollected himself, and lifted his hat. Miss Turquand went through the conventional obeisance. A few words--what they were neither knew. Captain Desfrayne exchanged courtesies for a brief moment with Frank Amberley, and bowed to Lady Quaintree, who was only a short way in arrear. Then he vanished as quickly as he had appeared. The faint tinge of rose color on Lois Turquand’s cheeks deepened visibly as she hurriedly passed on. A strange kind of resentment rose up in her breast, and made her eyes glitter with anger. At a second reflection, however, reason came to her aid. “It was not his fault,” she argued to herself, “that the kind old man to whom I owe my good fortune made an arrangement which is probably as distasteful to him as it is to me. I must not blame him. In fact, I am very much obliged to him, for I feel I should only be rude to him if he tried to talk to me. I don’t believe I ever could like him. He seems, though, to have pleasant, kindly eyes, from the hasty glance I had.” Paul Desfrayne moved away as if from the vicinity of the plague.