“Nothing,” said Mrs. Rolland, with an undisguised relish of the disappointment that she was inflicting. “There was another member of the family at Venice,” Agnes resumed, determined to sift the question to the bottom while she had the chance. “There was Baron Rivar.” Mrs. Rolland lifted her large hands, covered with rusty black gloves, in mute protest against the introduction of Baron Rivar as a subject of inquiry. “Are you aware, Miss,” she began, “that I left my place in consequence of what I observed—?” Agnes stopped her there. “I only wanted to ask,” she explained, “if anything was said or done by Baron Rivar which might account for Ferrari’s strange conduct.” “Nothing that I know of,” said Mrs. Rolland. “The Baron and Mr. Ferrari (if I may use such an expression) were ‘birds of a feather,’ so far as I could see—I mean, one was as unprincipled as the other. I am a just woman; and I will give you an example. Only the day before I left, I heard the Baron say (through the open door of his room while I was passing along the corridor), ‘Ferrari, I want a thousand pounds. What would you do for a thousand pounds?’ And I heard Mr. Ferrari answer, ‘Anything, sir, as long as I was not found out.’ And then they both burst out laughing. I heard no more than that. Judge for yourself, Miss.” Agnes reflected for a moment. A thousand pounds was the sum that had been sent to Mrs. Ferrari in the anonymous letter. Was that enclosure in any way connected, as a result, with the conversation between the Baron and Ferrari? It was useless to press any more inquiries on Mrs. Rolland. She could give no further information which was of the slightest importance to the object in view. There was no alternative but to grant her dismissal. One more effort had been made to find a trace of the lost man, and once again the effort had failed. They were a family party at the dinner-table that day. The only guest left in the house was a nephew of the new Lord Montbarry—the eldest son of his sister, Lady Barville. Lady Montbarry could not resist telling the story of the first (and last) attack made on the virtue of Mrs. Rolland, with a comically-exact imitation of Mrs. Rolland’s deep and dismal voice. Being asked by her husband what was the object which had brought that formidable person to the house, she naturally mentioned the expected visit of Miss Haldane. Arthur Barville, unusually silent and pre-occupied so far, suddenly struck into the conversation with a burst of enthusiasm. “Miss Haldane is the most charming girl in all Ireland!” he said. “I caught sight of her yesterday, over the wall of her garden, as I was riding by. What time is she coming to-morrow? Before two? I’ll look into the drawing-room by accident—I am dying to be introduced to her!” Agnes was amused by his enthusiasm. “Are you in love with Miss Haldane already?” she asked.