“Oh, Jean won’t quarrel with you over that,” put in Nick. “She’s got a splendacious castle all her own somewhere in the wilds of Europe.” “Yes. Beirnfels is really my home. I’ve never even seen Charnwood,” smiled Jean. “But I should like to--some day, if you will ask me over.” “Oh, yes, certainly you must come,” replied Lady Latimer a little breathlessly. But she seemed unaccountably flurried, as though Jean’s suggestion in some way disquieted her. “But of course, Charnwood--now--isn’t a bit like what it must have been when the Petersons had it. I think a place changes with the people who inhabit it, don’t you? I mean, their influence impresses itself on it. If they are good and happy people, you can feel it in the atmosphere of the place, and if they are people with bad and wicked thoughts, you feel that, too. I know I do.” And there was no doubt in the mind of either of her hearers that she was referring to the last-named set of influences. “But I think Charnwood must be lovely, since it’s your home now,” said Jean sincerely. “Oh, yes--of course--it is my home now.” Lady Latimer looked troubled. “But other people live--have lived there. It’s changed hands several times, hasn’t it, Nick?”--turning to him for confirmation. Nick was frowning. He, too, appeared troubled. “Of course it’s changed hands--heaps of times,” he replied gruffly. “But I should think your influence would be enough to counteract that of--of everybody else. Look here, chuck discussing rotten, psychic influences, Claire, and come on the ice.” “No, I can’t,” she replied hastily. “I haven’t my skates here.” “That doesn’t matter. We’ve a dozen pairs up at the house. One of them is sure to fit you. I’ll go and collect a few.” He wheeled as though to cross the lake on his proposed errand, but Claire Latimer laid her hand quickly on his arm. “No, no,” she said. “I can’t skate this morning. I’m on my way home.” “Oh, change your mind!” begged Jean, noticing with friendly amusement Nick’s expression of discontent. “No, really I can’t” Claire’s face had whitened and her big eyes sought Nick’s in a kind of pathetic appeal. “Adrian is not--very well to-day. My husband,” she added explanatorily to Jean. The latter was conscious of a sense of shock. She had quite imagined Lady Latimer to be a widow, and had been mentally engaged in weaving the most charming and happy-ever-after of romances since the moment she had seen that wonderful change come over Nick’s face. Probably her impression was due to the manner of his first introduction of Claire’s name, “A friend of ours lives there--Lady Latimer,” without reference to any husband lurking in the background. She observed that Nick made no further effort to persuade Claire to remain, and after exchanging a few commonplace remarks the latter continued her way back to Charnwood.