The tone of affection was calculated to gratify Miss Gilletson. But against it had to be set the curious and amused gaze of Norah and Violet. Seen by these two ladies in the act of descending from a stylish (and coroneted) victoria in the drive of Nab Grange, Miss Gilletson had, pardonably perhaps, broken down rather severely in cross-examination. She had been so very proud of the roses--so very full of Lord Lynborough’s graces! She was conscious now that the pair held her in their hands and were demanding courage from her. “Forsake you, dearest Helena? Of course not! There’s no question of that with any of us.” “Yes--there is--with those of you who make friends with that wretch at Scarsmoor!” “Really, Helena, you shouldn’t be so--so vehement. I’m not sure it’s ladylike. It’s absurd to call Lord Lynborough a wretch.” The pale faint flush again adorned her fading cheeks. “I never met a man more thoroughly a gentleman.” “You never met----” began the Marchesa in petrified tones. “Then you have met----?” Again her words died away. Miss Gilletson took her courage in both hands. “Circumstances threw us together. I behaved as a lady does under such circumstances, Helena. And Lord Lynborough was, under the circumstances, most charming, courteous, and considerate.” She gathered more courage as she proceeded. “And, really, it’s highly inconvenient having that gate locked, Helena. I had to come all the way round by the road.” “I’m sorry if you find yourself fatigued,” said the Marchesa with formal civility. “I’m not fatigued, thank you, Helena. I should have been terribly--but for Lord Lynborough’s kindness in sending me home in his carriage.” A pause followed. Then Norah and Violet began to giggle. “It was so funny this morning!” said Norah--and boldly launched on a full story of her adventure. She held the attention of the table. The Marchesa sat in gloomy silence. Violet chimed in with more reminiscences of her visit to Scarsmoor; Miss Gilletson contributed new items, including that matter of the roses. Norah ended triumphantly with a eulogy on Lynborough’s extraordinary physical powers. Captain Irons listened with concealed interest. Even Colonel Wenman ventured to opine that the enemy was worth fighting. Stillford imitated his hostess’s silence, but he was watching her closely. Would her courage--or her obstinacy--break down under these assaults, this lukewarmness, these desertions? In his heart, fearful of that lawsuit, he hoped so. “I shall prosecute him for assaulting Goodenough,” the Marchesa announced. “Goodenough touched him first!” cried Norah. “That doesn’t matter, since I’m in the right. He had no business to be there. That’s the law, isn’t it, Mr Stillford? Will he be sent to prison or only heavily fined?” “Well--er--I’m rather afraid--neither, Marchesa. You see, he’ll plead his right, and the Bench would refer us to our civil remedy and dismiss the summons. At least, that’s my opinion.”