“Is it?” said Lynborough softly. “Oh, is it indeed?” He rose from his seat. “Good-bye, Dawson. Mind--a dead secret, and a rattling good lunch!” “I’ll attend to it, my lord,” Dawson assured him with the utmost cheerfulness. Never had Dawson invested a glass of beer to better profit! Lynborough threw away his cigar and entered the sacred precincts. His brain was very busy. “Another wedge!” he was saying to himself. “Another wedge!” The lady had gone into the church. Lynborough went in too. He came first on Stabb--on his hands and knees, examining one of the old brasses and making copious notes in a pocket-book. “Have you seen a lady come in, Cromlech?” asked Lord Lynborough. “No, I haven’t,” said Cromlech, now producing a yard measure and proceeding to ascertain the dimensions of the brass. “You wouldn’t, if it were Venus herself,” replied Lynborough pleasantly. “Well, I must look for her on my own account.” He found her in the neighbourhood of his family monuments which, with his family pew, crowded the little chancel of the church. She was not employed in devotions, but was arranging some flowers in a vase--doubtless a pious offering. Somewhat at a loss how to open the conversation, Lynborough dropped his hat--or rather gave it a dexterous jerk, so that it fell at the lady’s feet. Miss Gilletson started violently, and Lord Lynborough humbly apologised. Thence he glided into conversation, first about the flowers, then about the tombs. On the latter subject he was exceedingly interesting and informing. “Dear, dear! Married the Duke of Dexminster’s daughter, did he?” said Miss Gilletson, considerably thrilled. “She’s not buried here, is she?” “No, she’s not,” said Lynborough, suppressing the fact that the lady had run away after six months of married life. “And my own father’s not buried here, either; he chose my mother’s family place in Devonshire. I thought it rather a pity.” “Your own father?” Miss Gilletson gasped. “Oh, I forgot you didn’t know me,” he said, laughing. “I’m Lord Lynborough, you know. That’s how I come to be so well up in all this. And I tell you what--I should like to show you some of our Scarsmoor roses on your way home.” “Oh, but if you’re Lord Lynborough, I--I really couldn’t----” “Who’s to know anything about it, unless you choose, Miss Gilletson?” he asked with his ingratiating smile and his merry twinkle. “There’s nothing so pleasant as a secret shared with a lady!”