“If it won’t be troubling you too much, Mr. Lisle,” said Lady Pell, “I think I should like to take another peep at that old dungeon about which the guide told us that gruesome legend. Such places have a peculiar but quite absurd fascination for me.” Having taken a second peep into the dungeon, her ladyship led the way up the winding stairs which brought them out on the leads of the keep. “Now that we have got rid of that tiresome guide, one can enjoy the view and be left to find out its most interesting features for oneself.” Lisle did not answer; he was wondering what had become of Ethel and why they couldn’t all four be enjoying the view from the keep. “If I had known that Dunarvon was half as picturesque as it is,” said Lady Pell presently, “I would certainly have got Miss Thursby to bring her drawing materials with her. There are charming sketches to be made from half-a-dozen different points of view.” “Would it not be possible to come to Dunarvon on some future day and rectify the omission?” queried Everard with the most innocent air imaginable. “Come again another day? Impossible!” cried her ladyship. “My time at the Chase is nearly up. A few more days, and Miss Thursby and I will be winging our flight elsewhere. And high time too, in my opinion.” She was looking full at Lisle, and he felt himself colouring under her regard. “Why do you say—‘and high time too,’ Lady Pell? I—I fail to understand you.” It was many a year since his cheeks had burnt as hotly as they did at that moment. “I should have thought my words were plain enough to be understood by anybody. However, since it seems that nothing else will do, I will deal with you still more plainly.” Laying a hand for a moment on his sleeve, she said: “Everard Lisle, you are in love with Ethel Thursby—and small blame to you either! Ah! you needn’t start. I’ve known it all along. Of course you thought, as most of your sex do in such cases, that nobody could see what was the matter with you; whereas to me—not that I set myself up as being cleverer than other people—it was as plain as a pikestaff. Very well. Perceiving what ailed you, I went out of my way to make opportunities for you to be together, and indeed, in a quiet way, did all I could to help you. And with what result, pray? Simply none at all. Week after week has gone by, and here you are, to all seeming, not a bit nearer what you are dying to possess than you were when I arrived at Withington Chase. I am disappointed in you, Everard Lisle.”