"Then you admit that it _is_ rather a queer place for you to be staying in by yourself," he said slowly. "No, I don't!" she protested eagerly. "But don't let's talk of disagreeable things--I'm going to take you such a splendid drive!" * * * * * Chester never forgot that first day of his at Lacville. It was by far the pleasantest day he spent there, and Sylvia Bailey, woman-like, managed entirely to conceal from him that she was not as pleased with their expedition as was her companion. Thanks to M. Polperro's good offices, they managed to hire a really good motor; and once clear of the fantastic little houses and the waste ground which was all up for sale, how old-world and beautiful were the little hamlets, the remote stretches of woodland and the quiet country towns through which they sped! On their way back, something said by Sylvia surprised and disturbed Chester very much. She had meant to conceal the fact that she was riding with Paul de Virieu each morning, but it is very difficult for one accustomed always to tell the truth to use deceit. And suddenly a careless word revealed to Chester that the horsewoman whose voice had sounded so oddly familiar to him in the Forest that morning had really been Sylvia herself! He turned on her quickly: "Then do you ride every morning with this Frenchman?" he asked quietly. "Almost every morning," she answered. "His sister lent me a horse and a riding habit. It was very kind of her," she raised her voice, and blushed deeply in the rushing wind. Chester felt his mind suddenly fill with angry suspicion. Was it possible that this Comte de Virieu, this man of whom that nice Madame Wachner had spoken with such scorn as a confirmed gambler, was "making up" to Sylvia? It was a monstrous idea--but Chester, being a solicitor, knew only too well that in the matter of marriage the most monstrous and disastrous things are not only always possible but sometimes probable. Chester believed that all Frenchmen regard marriage as a matter of business. To such a man as this Count, Mrs. Bailey's fortune would be a godsend. "Sylvia!" he exclaimed, in a low, stern voice. He turned round and looked at her. She was staring straight before her; the colour had faded from her cheek; she looked pale and tired. "Sylvia!" he repeated. "Listen to me, and--and don't be offended." She glanced quickly at the man sitting by her side. His voice was charged with emotion, with anger. "Don't be angry with me," he repeated. "If my suspicion, my fear, is unfounded, I beg your pardon with all my heart." Sylvia got up and touched the driver on the shoulder. "Please slow down," she said in French, "we are going faster than I like." Then she sank back in her seat. "Yes, Bill! What is it you wish to ask me? I couldn't hear you properly. We were going too fast." "Is it possible, is it conceivable, that you are thinking of marrying this Frenchman?"