Lady Quaintree began to wonder greatly why Captain Desfrayne had not come to ask for a cup of coffee, and she now missed her young companion. It did not suit her plan of operations to let them have an opportunity of entering into any mutual explanations of which she might not be immediately cognizant. Therefore, observing that Blanche was alone, she asked: “Where is Lois, my dear?” “I left her on the terrace, ma’am,” answered Blanche, turning round on her music-stool. “Alone, Blanche?” “Yes--no. I did leave her alone; but I think she is talking to Captain Desfrayne now.” “Oh, indeed! They are very foolish. I am sure they will take cold,” said my lady, with an air of careless semi-interest. Blanche turned again to her board of black and white ivory keys, and began running brilliant roulades. Mrs. Dormer asked her husband some questions about the state of the roads after the deluge of rain that had fallen, and in a few minutes Lady Quaintree found that she had an excellent opportunity of rising almost unobserved, and moving across to the windows, which all opened directly upon the terrace. She moved gently, with a soft, silken rustle, from one window to another, until she arrived at one where she could command a perfect view of the two figures standing in the moonlight. It thus happened that, as Paul Desfrayne spoke those words declaring his inability to carry out any share in the dead man’s wishes, Lady Quaintree was in the act of drawing open the window against which he had accidentally placed himself. Her ladyship would have disdained to play the part of eavesdropper, for she was a woman of high principle, although she deemed herself justified in thus interrupting what might be a critical explanation. She, therefore, heard nothing of what the young officer had been saying. Lois could not conceive why there should be such a tender sorrow in Captain Desfrayne’s eyes, such a pathetic ring in his voice, such an echo of grief and despair in his words. With an eager unrest, she waited for the next words, which should explain the reason of the young man’s inability to profit by the clauses in the old man’s will. But, instead of the tender tones of his voice, the suave, well-bred accents of Lady Quaintree sounded in her ears. With a great start, she turned and faced her ladyship; Paul Desfrayne did the same. “My dearest pet, you really ought not to linger here in the night air,” said my lady. “I fancy Mrs. Dormer has been wondering where you have vanished to. Really, however, I am not surprised, the beauty of the night has tempted you to breathe its freshness and fragrance; it is so close and sultry within. Give me your arm, my love; I will take just one turn, and then we will go in and let Captain Desfrayne and Mrs. Dormer have a little music.” “Allow me, madam,” said the young man, offering his arm.