“There is one of your benefactors looking at you at this moment, and looking as if he objected to my talking to you.” “How dare you talk about my benefactors? Do you suppose I had you invited to Medlow in order that you might insult me?” This little dialogue was conducted in subdued tones, but with a good deal of acrimony upon either side. Harrington was bursting with jealousy. The house, the men, the very atmosphere awakened distrust. He detested those men for their square shoulders and soldierly bearing, for the suggestion of cavalry or household brigade which seemed to him to pervade the masculine portion of the assembly. He had always hated military men. Their chief mission in life seemed to be to make civilians look insignificant. Miss Baldwin ate the next _entrée_ in stony silence, and it was not till he had abjectly apologized for his offensive speech that her lover was again taken into favour. She relented at last, however, and favoured him with a good deal of information about the house party which made such a brilliant show at Lady Burdenshaw’s luxurious board. The men were for the most part military—the greater number bachelors, or at any rate unencumbered with wives. Two had been divorced, one was a widower, another was separated in the friendliest way from a wife who found she could live in better style unfettered by matrimonial supervision. Major Swanwick was one of the two who had profited by Sir James Hannen’s jurisdiction. “His wife was Lady Flora Thurles, one of the Tantallans. All the Tantallan girls went wrong, don’t you know. It was in the blood.” “You and he seem to be great friends,” said Harrington, still suspicious. “Oh, we have met very often; he is quite an old chum of mine. He is a good old thing.” Seeing that the good old thing looked as if he were well under forty, Harrington was not altogether reassured, even by this comfortable tone. He watched his betrothed and the Major all through the long evening in the billiard-room, where pool was again the chief amusement of a very noisy party, of which Juliet and Major Swanwick seemed to him the ringleaders and master-spirits. It was with difficulty that he, the affianced, got speech with his betrothed. There were just a few minutes, while the old family tankards were being carried round with mulled claret and other cunning drinks, in which Juliet vouchsafed to give her attention to her lover, he having in a manner cornered her into a draped recess at the end of the room, where he held her prisoner while he bade her good night. “I shall see you at the meet to-morrow,” he said. “I won’t promise to be at the meet, but I shall find you and the hounds in plenty of time. I know every inch of this country.” “Whose horse are you going to ride to-morrow?” “A fine upstanding chestnut; I’m sure you’ll admire him?” “Yes, yes, but whose?”