“I beg your pardon, madam,” said Lynborough, “but if it does not incommode you, would you have the great kindness to permit me to open the gate?” “Oh, I’m sorry; but this is a private path leading to Nab Grange. I suppose you’re a stranger in these parts?” “My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor there.” “Are you Lord Lynborough?” Norah sounded exceedingly interested. “_The_ Lord Lynborough?” “There’s only one, so far as I’m aware,” the owner of the title answered. “I mean the one who has done all those--those--well, those funny things?” “I rejoice if the recital of them has caused you any amusement. And now, if you will permit me----” “Oh, but I can’t! Helena would never forgive me. I’m a friend of hers, you know--of the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really you can’t come through here.” “Do you think you can stop me?” “There isn’t room for you to get over as long as I stand here--and the wall’s too high to climb, isn’t it?” Lynborough studied the wall; it was twice the height of the wall on the other side; it might be possible to scale, but difficult and laborious; nor would he look imposing while struggling at the feat. “You’ll have to go round by the road,” remarked Norah, breaking into a smile. Lynborough was enjoying the conversation just as much as she was--but he wanted two things; one was victory, the other coffee. “Can’t I persuade you to move?” he said imploringly. “I really don’t want to have to resort to more startling measures.” “You surely wouldn’t use force against a girl, Lord Lynborough!” “I said startling measures--not violent ones,” he reminded her. “Are your nerves good?” “Excellent, thank you.” “You mean to stand where you are?” “Yes--till you’ve gone away.” Now she laughed openly at him. Lynborough delighted in the merry sound and the flash of her white teeth. “It’s a splendid morning, isn’t it?” he asked. “I should think you stand about five feet five, don’t you? By the way, whom have I the pleasure of conversing with?” “My name is Norah Mountliffey.” “Ah, I knew your father very well.” He drew back a few steps. “So you must excuse an old family friend for telling you that you make a charming picture at that gate. If I had a camera---- Just as you are, please!” He held up his hand, as though to pose her. “Am I quite right?” she asked, humouring the joke, with her merry mischievous eyes set on Lynborough’s face as she leant over the top of the gate. “Quite right. Now, please! Don’t move!” “Oh, I’ve no intention of moving,” laughed Norah mockingly. She kept her word; perhaps she was too surprised to do anything else. For Lynborough, clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart and a spring flew over her head. Then she wheeled round--to see him standing two yards from her, his hat in his hand again, bowing apologetically.