"Well, between you and me," says Dora, raising herself on tiptoe, as though to whisper in his ear, and so coming very close to him, "I am afraid my dearest Florence is a little sly! Yes, really; you wouldn't think it, would you? The dear girl has such a sweet ingenuous face--quite the loveliest face on earth, I think, though some pronounce it too cold. But she is very self-contained; and to-day, you see, she has given you an insight into this slight fault in her character. Now, has she not appeared to you to avoid Arthur almost pointedly?" "She has indeed," agrees Sir Adrian, with a smothered groan. "Well"--triumphantly--"and yet, here we find her granting him a private audience, when she believed we were all safely out of the way; and in the north gallery too, which, as a rule, is deserted." "She didn't know we were thinking of driving to the hills," says Sir Adrian, making a feeble effort to find a flaw in his companion's statement. "Oh, yes, she did!" declares the widow lightly. "I told her myself, about two hours ago, that I intended asking you to make a party to go there, as I dote on lovely scenery; and I dare say"--coquettishly--"she knew--I mean thought--you would not refuse so small a request of mine. But for poor Lady FitzAlmont's headache we should be there now." "It is true," admits Sir Adrian, feeling that the last straw has descended. "And now that I think of it," the widow goes on, even more vivaciously, "the reason she assigned for not coming with us must have been a feigned one. Ah, slyboots that she is!" laughs Mrs. Talbot merrily. "Of course, she wanted the course clear to have an explanation with Arthur. Well, after all, that was only natural. But she might have trusted me, whom she knows to be her true friend." Ill-tempered--capricious--sly! And all these faults are attributed to Florence by "her true friend!" A quotation assigned to Marechal Villars when taking leave of Louis XIV. occurs to him--"Defend me from my friends." The words return to him persistently; but then he looks down on Dora Talbot, and stares straight into her liquid blue eyes, so apparently guileless and pure, and tells himself that he wrongs her. Yes, it is a pity Florence had not put greater faith in this kind little woman, a pity for all of them, as then many heart-breaks might have been prevented. CHAPTER IV. It is the evening of the theatricals; and in one of the larger drawing-rooms at the castle, where the stage has been erected, and also in another room behind connected with it by folding-doors, everybody of note in the county is already assembled. Fans are fluttering--so are many hearts behind the scenes--and a low buzz of conversation is being carried on among the company. Then the curtain rises; the fans stop rustling, the conversation ceases, and all faces turn curiously to the small but perfect stage that the London workmen have erected.