“At Whitecross, with Lady Cheyne,” replied Lola. “Oh!—The little fat woman who has the house near the gate in the wall? I see. And you came back this afternoon?” “Yes,” said Lola. “With my husband?” “No,” said Lola. “Does he know that you intended to give me the pleasure of seeing you here with our mutual friend?” “No,” said Lola. Was that a lie or not? The girl had been crying, that was obvious. Something had evidently gone wrong with her scheme. But why this surreptitious meeting, this bringing in of Lytham? It was easy, of course, to appreciate _his_ anxiety. He needed an impeccable Fallaray. He was working for his party, his political campaign, and in the long run, being an earnest patriot, for his country.—She had a few questions to put to him too. “Where did you meet Lola de Brézé, Young Lochinvar?” she asked. “At Chilton Park,” said Lytham, who had begun to be somewhat mystified at the way in which things were going; and, if the truth were told, impatient. All he had come to know was whether he had an ally in Lady Feo or an enemy, and make his plans accordingly. He could see no reason for her to dodge the issue. His game of tennis looked hopeless. What curious creatures women were. “When?” There was the sound of quick steps in the hall. “Last night.” The door opened and Fallaray walked in. With a gleeful smile Feo spoke through his exclamation of surprise. “Edmund, I would like you to tell your friends what my answer was to your request for a divorce.” Hating to be caught in what was obviously an endeavor to influence his chief’s wife against a decision to unhitch himself from marriage and politics, Lytham sprang to his feet, feeling as disconcerted as he looked. Lola made no movement except to stiffen in her chair. Watching Fallaray closely, Feo saw first a flare of passion light up his eyes at the sight of Lola, and then an expression of resentment come into them at not being able, others being present, to catch her in his arms. An impetuous movement had taken him to the middle of the room, where he drew up short and stood irresolute and self-conscious and looking rather absurd under the gaze of Lytham and his wife. “What is all this?” he asked, after an awkward pause, during which he began to suspect that he had been tricked by Feo and was faced by a combination of objection. “Don’t ask me,” said Feo, waving her hand towards Lytham and Lola. “Then I must ask you, George,” said Fallaray, making an effort to disguise his anger. He could see that he had been made the subject of discussion, as if he were some one to be coerced and who did not know his own business. “This is not quite fair,” said Lytham. “Our intention was to see Lady Feo, get her views and cooperation, and then, to-night or to-morrow, come to you and beg you to do the sane thing in this affair. We had no hand in your being dragged into this private meeting.”