There came a rush of footmen, a bustle of service, amid which they alighted and entered the splendid residence that was part of the little that remained Lord Ostermore from the wreck his fortunes had suffered on the shoals of the South Sea. Mr. Caryll paused a moment to dismiss Leduc to the address in Old Palace Yard where he had hired a lodging. That done, he followed his lordship and Hortensia within doors. From the inner hall a footman ushered him across an ante-chamber to a room on the right, which proved to be the library, and was his lordship's habitual retreat. It was a spacious, pillared chamber, very richly panelled in damask silk, and very richly furnished, having long French windows that opened on a terrace above the garden. As they entered there came a swift rustle of petticoats at their heels, and Mr. Caryll stood aside, bowing, to give passage to a tall lady who swept by with no more regard for him than had he been one of the house's lackeys. She was, he observed, of middle-age, lean and aquiline-featured, with an exaggerated chin, that ended squarely as boot. Her sallow cheeks were raddled to a hectic color, a monstrous head-dress--like that of some horse in a lord mayor's show--coiffed her, and her dress was a mixture of extravagance and incongruity, the petticoat absurdly hooped. She swept into the room like a battleship into action, and let fly her first broadside at Mistress Winthrop from the threshold. “Codso!” she shrilled. “You have come back! And for what have you come back? Am I to live in the same house with you, you shameless madam--that have no more thought for your reputation than a slut in a smock-race?” Hortensia raised indignant eyes from out of a face that was very pale. Her lips were tightly pressed--in resolution, thought Mr. Caryll, who was very observant of her--not to answer her ladyship; for Mr. Caryll had little doubt as to the identity of this dragon. “My love--my dear--” began his lordship, advancing a step, his tone a very salve. Then, seeking to create a diversion, he waved a hand towards Mr. Caryll. “Let me present--” “Did I speak to you?” she turned to bombard him. “Have you not done harm enough? Had you been aught but a fool--had you respected me as a husband should--you had left well alone and let her go her ways.” “There was my duty to her father, to say aught of--” “And what of your duty to me?” she blazed, her eyes puckering most malignantly. She reminded Mr. Caryll of nothing so much as a vulture. “Had ye forgotten that? Have ye no thought for decency--no respect for your wife?” Her strident voice was echoing through the house and drawing a little crowd of gaping servants to the hall. To spare Mistress Winthrop, Mr. Caryll took it upon himself to close the door. The countess turned at the sound. “Who is this?” she asked, measuring the elegant figure with an evil eye. And Mr. Caryll felt it in his bones that she had done him the honor to dislike him at sight.