Despite the threatening clouds on the horizon, which hinted at coming trouble, the days passed very quietly at the Grange. As an elderly male chaperon, Mr. Martaban remained to look after his client, and the very respectable Mrs. Blexey was also useful in this necessary capacity. Prelice, unable to tear himself away from the too dangerous society of Mona--and dangerous it was considering his feelings and her engagement to Ned--lingered at the Hythe Hotel. Shepworth, strange to say, did not put in an appearance. "It's odd," remarked Prelice, when strolling over the lawns on the third day of his arrival, "it's odd that Ned doesn't come down." He put the observation in the form of a query, and so Mona, who strolled beside him, was forced to reply. But she did so unwillingly, and as briefly as was possible. "Very odd," she said indifferently. Lord Prelice cast a puzzled side glance at her beautiful face, which looked ethereal and rosy under a red sunshade. Even as yet he could not understand what were her feelings towards his friend. And as he was more in love than ever, the situation was perplexing from its very vagueness. In sheer desperation, he tried to make her talk of Ned (which she did very rarely), by continuing the topic. "Ned," said the young man, eyeing the trees, the lawns, the sky, and the house, with a fine affectation of indifference, "Ned has been acquitted at the inquest, and the jury gave a verdict of wilful murder against some person, or persons, unknown, in the orthodox style. Agstone has been buried, and here am I waiting for an interview with Ned to settle some course of action towards elucidating these criminal problems. Yet he has not come down, and has not even replied to my letter." Miss Chent shifted her sunshade from one shoulder to the other. "I expect he'll come down when he is ready," said she calmly. "Oh Jerusalem! Excuse the swear-word, Miss Chent; but if I were Ned I should have come here ages ago." "You did, Lord Prelice. But if you are so anxious to interview Ned--and I quite admit the necessity--why not go up to London?" Her companion wriggled uneasily, and searched his brains for an excuse to remain in his uncomfortable paradise. "Well, you see--er--that is, my dear young lady, I am--to put it plainly--er--my aunt, you know Lady Sophia, is coming to Folkstone." "She arrived there last night, Lord Prelice." "Eh--what--you don't--er--you don't say so?" Mona laughed, and the young man was glad to hear her laugh. She gave way rarely to merriment during the undecided present. "Why did you write about me to Lady Sophia?" asked the girl gently. "I?" Prelice was quite prepared to lie, but decided not to when he saw the expression of her face. "Well, you see--that is, you understand--that an aunt is an aunt." "I never thought that she was an uncle." "Course not. But there, you see, my aunt expected me to write, and I have written." "You needn't have made me the subject-matter of your letter."