A happy accident—if that may be termed an accident which was the result of the working out of a series of events altogether outside their own control—had brought Lisle and Ethel together again, but neither of them felt inclined to cavil at having been thus unceremoniously treated. Neither did they evince any disposition to grumble when they found that a day seldom passed without bringing them for a longer or shorter time into the society of each other. Everard was at the Chase nearly every forenoon, and frequently stayed for luncheon, while his invitations to dinner were even more frequent since Lady Pell’s arrival than they had been before. The latter fact he owed to his ability as a whist-player, for Sir Gilbert, to his great satisfaction, now found that, with Mrs. Tew to make a fourth, he could count upon a rubber as often as he chose to bring the little party together, which, on an average, was three or four evenings a week. It was a pleasure from which circumstances had long debarred him. Everard’s love for Ethel, which her refusal of him had compelled him to crush down with all the force of his will, but which nothing had availed to kill, under the daily sunshine of her presence sprang up into fresh and vigorous life. To all outward seeming, as he flattered himself, his treatment of her in no wise differed from that which he would have accorded to any other young woman with whom circumstances might have brought him into daily contact; but on that point, as we have seen, he was mistaken, Lady Pell having penetrated his secret almost from the first. He strove to so train both his voice and his eyes that neither of them should betray him, and believed—foolish fellow!—that he had succeeded in the attempt. He had no present intention of risking his fate a second time. Just now it was happiness enough to be enabled to see Ethel and to talk with her day after day, to sit by her at table, to hover round her at the piano, and to be permitted to hold her fingers for a moment within his when the time came for bidding her goodnight. Once again his tongue should bear witness for him—and he would stand or fall by the result: but not yet. And Ethel—what of her? She would not have been a woman had she not known that Lisle loved her. If Lady Pell could penetrate his secret, it was scarcely to be expected that she who was alone concerned should be less clear-sighted, lacking though she was both in years and experience.