The bride herself appeared utterly indifferent to their scrutiny. She was sitting by the open door of the saloon, talking in low and, as it appeared, familiar tones with a handsome, black-bearded man in the dress of a gamekeeper, and her conversation, could the bystanders have heard it, would have considerably surprised them. “Don’t be afraid of me, Stephen,” she was saying. “You know we are cousins. Old grandmother Sarah told me so. It’s a relief to look at a handsome man after being shut up in this carriage with that little monkey of a Carthew.” Stephen stared at her in undisguised astonishment, but she only laughed. “Well, isn’t he ugly?” she asked, and began to mimic the slight nervous twitching of the facial muscles which characterized Lord Carthew in moments of excitement. “Now, if he was like _you_,” she added, looking straight into the young gypsy’s eyes with a long, soft glance, “perhaps I shouldn’t get so bored over his compliments and his love-making.” Sarah Carewe’s prophecy was certainly coming true. And yet, such is the contrary disposition of men, Stephen, who had for years passionately longed for the right to address one word, one look of love, toward his young mistress, felt a shock of disappointment, and even of disgust, when she thus went out of her way to lower herself to his level, and hardly knew how to answer her. She had closed the saloon door, and was leaning out of the window, whispering something to Stephen, with her cheek actually touching his, when Lord Carthew returned with the tea. At first he could hardly believe his eyes when they rested upon his bride and her father’s servant in this familiar and even affectionate converse. It seemed too horrible, too degrading, to be true that here, under the gaze of grinning railway porters and curious and amused third-class passengers, his wife, his lovely, refined and innocent Stella, was publicly flirting with her father’s gamekeeper on a railway platform at three o’clock in the afternoon of her wedding-day! But the evidence of his eyes could not be doubted, and if anything were needed to acquaint Lord Carthew with the extent of his misfortune, Lady Carthew’s next words, which he plainly overheard, would have done so. “Well, I wish you could change places with him, Stephen.” “Stand out of my way, if you please!” The words, very quietly uttered immediately behind him, made Stephen start. But the bride merely laughed as she saw her husband’s white face, and heard his voice, in hard, level tones, suggesting that she should sit farther away from the door, as her movements were being watched by a crowd. “I like a crowd,” she said insolently. “_I_ do not,” he returned, closing the door, drawing up the window, and placing the tea upon the table before her.