Thus it was Cassandra heard tales of the brother and sister and mother of her David, and of him also. How it was said that once he was engaged to a rich tradesman's daughter but had broken it off and gone to America against the wishes of all his family, and had become a common practitioner there to the disgust of all his relatives; and again Cassandra felt that she had left a sweet and lovely world behind her to step into "Vanity Fair." She tried to hold fast her faith in goodness and high purpose. She was sure--sure--David had been moved by noble motives; why should she not trust him now? Did this girl know him better than she--his wife? Yet, in spite of her valiant spirit, two facts fell like leaden weights upon her heart. David had not told his people that he had a wife, and they would be offended that he had "tied himself to a common sort over there." This David whom she loved was so high above her in the eyes of all his relatives and perhaps even in his own. What--ah, what could she do! Might she still hold him in her heart? She could not walk in upon them now and betray him--never--never. Her lips grew pale, and her head swam, but she sat still, leaning a little forward in the moving phaeton, her hands tightly clasped in her lap and her babe unheeded at her side, until the red returned to her lips and again burned in a clearly defined spot against the pallor of her cheek. She did not know that a strange, unearthly beauty was hers. A carriage met them filled with gay people. She did not notice them, but they gazed at her and turned to look again as they passed. "I say, you know!" said one of the men, as they whirled by. "There, that was Lady Geraldine Temple in that carriage, and the young man who stared so hard is her son. They've been paying a visit, or maybe they've brought Lady Clara to stay a bit. They say both families are keen for the match--and why shouldn't they be? Oh, they'll entertain the king here some day, and then there'll be high times at Daneshead!" An automobile flashed by them, and then another. "There must be a party here to-day, or likely it's visitors dropping in, now it's getting toward tea time. It's all right, ma'm," she added, as Cassandra stirred uneasily. "It must be only visitors, or I would have heard of it. They're keeping open house now, though they don't go anywhere themselves yet. You see it's a year since the deaths, so they could mourn them all at once, and not spin it along. They had to wait a year before Lady Laura's coming out--rightly. Let the ponies walk now, driver. I beg pardon, ma'm." The girl had so taken possession of Cassandra, the baby, and the whole expedition, that she gave the order unthinkingly. "Yes, let them walk," said Cassandra, and drew a long breath. She heard gay laughter, and caught sight through the trees of light dresses and wide, plumed hats. Some one sat on the terrace at a table whereon was shining silver.