But the Earl’s caution had kept him from giving any written pledge to the Jacobites and the knowledge of it steadied him now; he fenced warily with the Viscount’s wiliness and took his leave, more hastily than ceremoniously, leaving the Viscount in a pleasant humor. The little episode delighted him; he chuckled to himself at the thought of Argyll’s face. He pictured that unfortunate gentleman’s agonies as he hurried home; then his smile deepened as he saw still further. Argyll might warn the conspirators that the Master was on their track; they might take fright and escape the net spreading for them; so would the Master’s labor go for nothing; the Viscount finally laughed aloud at the thought of the storm there would be when Sir John found himself outwitted; his was the temper that loves to provoke and then standing aside watch the violence aroused in others. In these pleasant thoughts he was disturbed by the sound of the opening door and the slow entry of Lady Dalrymple. At sight of him she hesitated. “Where is Sir John?” she asked. The Viscount pointed to the folding door. “In there, with my Lord Breadalbane.” She shrank away from the door as if she saw the man behind it. “What do they talk of?” she asked heavily. “Why, madam,” he answered dryly, “what business is that of yours?” She shook her head drearily and crossed to the window; in the gray light of the winter afternoon her face and figure showed one dull whiteness; her pale hair, her white dress and her pallor made her appear ghostlike in the somber room. A few flakes of snow were falling across the leaden sky; Lady Dalrymple stared out at the bleak square and the bare trees. “Madam, have you no occupation?” asked the Viscount suavely. “No,” she answered, without looking round. “There are pleasanter ways of doing nothing,” he observed, “than contemplating a dreariness.” “My lord—I see nothing else—wherever I look.” She turned her head and her dim blue eyes rested on him. “An unfortunate disposition,” he remarked. She came down the room restlessly, her head hanging a little. “Did you want to see my son?” questioned the Viscount, eying her. “No,” she answered dully. “You merely questioned, madam, that you might avoid him?” Lady Dalrymple lifted her head. “Perhaps,” she said, with trembling lips. The Viscount smiled. “Will you, madam, do me a like service?” “What?” she asked. “Avoid me, madam; the house is large enough.” A faint flush came into her face. “I strive, my lord, not to trouble you.” “Madam, you are hardly successful.” “Forgive me,” she said, very white again. “It is not of my doing that I am your son’s wife.” The Viscount shrugged his shoulders. “I am not responsible for my son’s domestic affairs—” She turned and faced him.