Mrs. Rowland did not think proper to say more. One way or other it must, she thought, be a matter of entire indifference to this disreputable looking stranger what were the circumstances of Eddy Saumarez. She rose from her throne of heather, taking no further notice of the visitor, and disturbing the party altogether, to the resentment of everybody. “I have only just begun to have my lunch,” said Marion--and “Is it really time to be going?” Rosamond asked with a fine tone of surprise. The young men said little; but their faces showed their feelings. “That is the worst of it,” said Eddy, in an audible whisper, “a chaperon is sure to spoil sport. She doesn’t mean any harm, but she does it by instinct.” And of the two pairs no one budged. Evelyn was alone among these young conspirators, and the vulgar commentator who had sought to make himself agreeable by putting her terrors into words. She wandered a little further upon the hillside, and gathered a handful of the white Grass of Parnassus, and the little blue orchid which is to be found on these hills, to give herself a countenance, not knowing how to act or what to do; whether to speak to her husband or to endeavour in her own person to divide the bonds which had grown up so fast. But how could she do this? What did they care for what she said, these independent young people? What hold had she over them, one way or another? And yet it would be said that she had been the chief actor in everything, that it was she who had thrown them together; she who had plotted to throw James Rowland’s wealth into the hands and house of the Saumarez. The thought was intolerable; her whole mind cried out against it, protesting that it was not to be borne; but how was she to free herself from this knot in which she was enveloped? What was she to do? CHAPTER XXVI.