A chill feeling of alarm swept over him. She spoke, her ladyship spoke, as though such a girl existed, as though she knew her personally. And the name was a pure invention! Marjorie had invented it—at least, he believed so. “You—you don’t know her?” “Know her—of course I know her. Didn’t Marjorie bring her here from Miss Skinner’s two holidays running? A very beautiful and brilliant girl, the loveliest girl I think I ever saw! Really, Hugh Alston, though I am surprised and pained at your silence and duplicity, I must absolve you. I always regarded you as more or less a fool, but Joan Meredyth is a girl any man might fall in love with!” Hugh sat gripping the arms of his chair. What had he done, or rather what had Marjorie done? What desperate muddle had that little maid led him into? He had counted on the name being a pure invention, and now— “Where is she?” demanded Lady Linden. “I don’t know—we—we parted!” “Why?” “We didn’t get on, you see. She’d got a temper, and so—” “Of course she had a temper. She is a spirited gel, full of life and fire and intelligence. I wouldn’t give twopence for a woman without a temper—certainly she had a temper! Bah, don’t talk to me, sir—you sit there and tell me you were content to let her go, let a beautiful creature like that go merely because she had a temper?” “She—she went. I didn’t let her go; she just went!” “Yes,” Lady Linden said thoughtfully, “I suppose she did. It is just what Joan would do! She saw that she was not appreciated; you wrangled, or some folly, and she simply went. She would—so would I have gone! And now, where is she?” “I tell you I don’t know!” “You’ve never sought her?” “Never! I—I—now look here,” he went on, “don’t take it to heart too much. She is quite all right—that is, I expect—” “You expect!” she said witheringly. “Here you sit; you have a beautiful young wife, the most brilliant girl I ever met, and—and you let her go! Don’t talk to me!” “No, I won’t; let’s drop it! We will discuss it some other time—it is a matter I prefer not to talk about! Naturally it is rather—painful to me!” “So I should think!” “Yes, I much prefer not to talk about it. Let’s discuss Marjorie!” “Confound Marjorie!” “Marjorie is the sweetest little soul in the world, and—” “It’s a pity you didn’t think of that three years ago!” “And Tom Arundel is a fine fellow; no one can say one word against him!” “I don’t wish to discuss them! If Marjorie is obsessed with this folly about young Arundel, it will be her misfortune. If she wants to marry him she will probably regret it. I intended her to marry you; but since it can’t be, I don’t feel any particular interest in the matter of Marjorie’s marriage at the moment! Now tell me about Joan at once!” “Believe me, I—I much prefer not to: it is a sore subject, a matter I never speak about!” “Oh, go away then—and leave me to myself. Let me think it all out!” He went gladly enough; he made his way back to the lily-pond.