And now she had deliberately told him a lie! He tried in vain to avoid coming to this conclusion, but in the face of her denial that Cecil Jones was identical with the man he had seen in her company more than once, he could not believe her. Although to-day was the first occasion on which he had seen the young man’s face, Gerard had so carefully made a mental note of his figure and gait, that he was sure he could not be mistaken. Arthur Aldington, who was his own chauffeur, was driving slowly and carefully down the drive when suddenly he stopped the motor-car, and looking out into the road towards which he was going, said-- “By Jove! There’s a breakdown, and it’s Sir William Gurdon’s big car in difficulties, I believe.” Gerard jumped out and went down the drive to the gate, which had been left open. Looking down the road he saw that Arthur was right: the big, handsome car which had brought the baronet over from his Thames-side villa was blocking the road, and beside it were three persons: Sir William, his chauffeur, and Cecil Jones, whom the baronet had offered to take back to town with him, which he could easily do, as he proposed to spend the night in the city himself. Gerard went back to Arthur, told him he was right, and jumping into the car again, turned and said-- “Sir William’s got that fellow Jones with him.” Arthur had not yet started the car, and he said in a low voice-- “I don’t like the look of Jones. He’s such an awful ass! I don’t want to have to take him with us.” “Oh, I don’t suppose we shall have to do that. We don’t know what’s wrong. Something very trifling, perhaps.” Still Arthur hesitated. He was in a very ill humor, on account of his losses. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to him how much money he loses,” he said, in a grumbling tone; “he looks that sort of chap, doesn’t he?” Gerard hesitated. He had in his mind the notion that Cecil Jones, simple as he looked and sillily as he spoke, was not quite the innocent jay he appeared. But yet he did not want to betray a suspicion of these new friends of Rachel Davison’s until he was quite sure about them. “Did he lose much?” asked Gerard, instead of replying to his friend’s question. “I don’t quite know. I saw a good deal of gold flying about, and he said, with that sheepish smile of his, that he’d been cleaned out. I wonder Miss Davison cares to stay with people who play cards all day on Sunday!” “Well, it surprised me to see her playing, too,” admitted Gerard. “Yes. I shan’t say anything about that at home. Mother would be awfully disgusted. And I can’t say I quite like it myself; and I know I don’t like losing so much as I did.” “Why did you go on playing, then?” “Oh, you know one can’t help oneself. These people are rich, and they don’t consider that other pockets are not all as deep as their own.” “Are they really so rich?”