"Poor lad!" he said, as his face changed, and a look of pain crossed his brow. "And for her, too. Weak, foolish lad! He's infatuated--as we all are at some time or other in our lives." He stood in his doorway, thoughtful, and with brow knit. "That chattering pie will spread it all over the town. Clode will get to know, and then--well, we must take care." He crossed the hall, tapped lightly on the opposite door, and then entered. "Bravo--bravo!" he cried, clapping his delicate white hands. "Admirable!" "Ah, Mellersh, come and join us," said the elder Linnell, raising his glasses on to his forehead. "Just in time for a trio." "No, no, not to-day. Impossible. My head is terrible this morning. Late hours--cards--strong coffee. I came to ask Dick here if he would be my companion for a six-mile walk to Shankley Wood." The elder Linnell looked from one to the other with a smile. "Oh, I'm sure he will," he said. "Eh, Dick?" "Of course, father, of course." "And out all the morning, too! Well, well, fresh air for health." "Why don't you get more then, Linnell?" "I--I?" said the grave, elderly man slowly. "I don't know. I don't want fresh air. I'm very well as I am. I shall do for my time here." "Why, father," said Richard merrily, as he clapped him on the shoulder, "what a tone to take." He exchanged a quick, agonised glance with Mellersh, and then proceeded to replace his violin and bow in the case. "Come to me, Dick," said the Colonel; "I want to go to my room:" and he went out, busied himself for a few minutes in his bedroom, and then came out again into the hall, to find Mrs Dean disappearing up the staircase, and Cora giving some orders to her little groom. He waited till she turned and came towards him with a scornful look in her eyes. "Well," he said, in a low voice, and with a longing undertook in his eyes that he evidently tried to conceal, "how many poor fellows slain this morning?" "How many are there here worth slaying?" she said, in the same low tone. "A matter of taste," he said, gravely. "A matter of taste, Miss Cora Dean." "Not one," she said, giving him her hand in response to his own held out. "I don't know," he said, looking very keenly in her eyes, "anger--love-- jealousy." She snatched her hand away. "Don't fool!" she cried angrily. "I? Jealous?" "Yes, you--jealous," he said; and then as she hurried up the stairs, "and there would be another emotion to trouble you, Cora Dean, if you knew all that I know now. Ah, Dick! Ready?" "Yes. Who was that, here?" "Your fair enslaver--Cora Dean!" Richard looked up at him keenly and laughed as they left the house, ignorant of the fact that Cora was watching them intently, and Mrs Dean was keeping up a running fire of comment on what she called her "gal's foolery."