"They've made me a new set of harness for the grey ponies," Flo said; "harness with bells. In frosty weather it quite gives one the idea of a sledge. If it were not for the hunting people, I should wish it were frosty. We can go out directly after luncheon, Cecil; and I dare say we shall meet those hunting people somewhere or other in the course of our drive. In the mean time I shall go and inflict solitary confinement upon myself while I read over that long scene with the Marquis. I wonder whether Sir Nugent will be nervous. I'm sure I shall; and if we are both nervous, the scene will be a failure." Mrs. Lobyer retired to her own apartments, and Cecil spent her morning in writing letters. She had heard no mention of Hector Gordon's name since the afternoon on which the comedy had been read by Sir Nugent Evershed; and she had done her uttermost to exclude all thought of him from her mind. But she knew that on the 10th the Fusiliers had left for Tralee, and that on the same day the Plungers had taken possession of Chiverley Barracks. There had been some talk about these Indian heroes amongst callers at Pevenshall, but no special mention of Major Gordon. She knew that he was near her; that although it was quite possible that she might leave Yorkshire without having seen him, it was equally possible that at any moment he might appear before her--a guest in the house which sheltered her. She had been so accustomed to think of him as utterly divided from her--the inhabitant of another world--that the knowledge of his near neighbourhood affected her with a feeling that was nearly akin to terror. "What reason have I to be afraid of him?" she asked herself again and again; but in spite of all reason she was oppressed by some kind of fear when she thought of the many chances that might bring Hector Gordon across her path. Mrs. Lobyer was in her highest spirits at luncheon. The gentlemen were all away in the hunting-field except Sir Nugent, who had arrived at Pevenshall an hour or two after breakfast, and had been supervising the upholsterer's men as they put the finishing touches to the theatre and dressing rooms. He was to dine and spend the night in Mr. Lobyer's mansion. After luncheon he escorted the two ladies to their carriage, patted and admired the pretty grey ponies, and placed the reins in Mrs. Lobyer's hands. "You'll not drive far," he said; "remember that as stage-manager I have some kind of authority; and I must beg that you don't fatigue yourself. You have your dinner to go through, you know. It will be nine o'clock before you leave the dining-room; and our performance must commence at ten. An hour is a very short time for a Pompadour toilette."