"You have been riding all day--you cannot go back--like this." She made an effort to look at him now; he was taking his hat and gloves from the chair where he had thrown them on his entry. "I shall walk to Brenton and get a horse there; I must be in London as soon as may be." He put on his cloak over his bright shining dress and fastened the heavy clasps. "You will leave them, like this?" asked Miss Chressham. "There is no more to say," he answered. "You will think hardly of them," said Susannah; her voice, her eyes, her pose expressed intense excitement. Rose Lyndwood smiled. "Nay, I am the culprit;" he hesitated a moment, then his voice fell beautifully soft, "do not _you_ think hardly of _me_?" "I!" she smiled bravely; "I--I understand." "I will write soon, to you and to my lady." He moved towards the window, and the sweet breeze stirred the loose hair on his forehead. Miss Chressham followed him. "We shall see you again?" She bit her lip, and the colour rose under her eyes. "Ah, soon." He took her hand and kissed it; she saw the white corner of the letter addressed to Miss Boyle showing from the glimmering brocade of his waistcoat, and her mouth tightened. "My duty to my lady," said the Earl; "and--you will know what to tell them--good-night." His tone, his smile were endearments; to her alone that evening had he shown anything of his usual manner; this his thanks for her patient sympathy. "Good-night," she answered. He stepped out on to the terrace; the moon was directly overhead and the trees mighty with black shadows; the white flowers looked as if carved out of silver, and the red tulips, half seen, seemed to pulse in the obscurity of the shade cast by the gleaming balustrade. Rose Lyndwood looked up at the house; in his mother's room burnt a pale light; he glanced down again at Miss Chressham standing before the ruddy candle glow of the chamber he had just left; bright colour showed in her scarlet dress, in her heated cheeks and brilliant eyes; she had one hand on her bosom, and her slack fingers were soft and fair. "Good-night," he said again, and turned away towards the shallow steps. Miss Chressham watched him go; the stillness was, to her, rent with voices--Marius speaking in the hot bitterness of youth, Lady Lyndwood weeping complaining words, the soft tones of Selina Boyle and the sad laugh of Rose Lyndwood. "Rose Lyndwood." She repeated the name to herself, then closed the window and drew the heavy curtain across the prospect of the stars. CHAPTER IV THE BARGAIN The clear, kindly morning sun lay over the straight handsome houses in Bedford Row and dazzled in the white dust of the wide street.