Frank therefore displayed the photograph of the big negress in a prominent position, for the startling of Miss Cork, and then took his way to Rose Cottage. He knew, that, seeing he loved Mildred, he ought not to go, in spite of the unsuspicious Jarman's direct wish. But Lancaster, loyal as he wished to act towards his friend, could not help drinking in the sweet poison. By this time he was convinced that Mildred liked him more than a little, and he gave himself a kind of delicious pain in watching this fruit which he could never hope to pluck. He thought that when she knew his real name her liking would vanish, to be replaced with loathing for the assassin of her brother, as she must surely think Lancaster to be. Then she could marry Jarman, and be happy. Frank argued in this way. All the same, he knew that he was giving way to weakness in trusting himself in her sweet presence. This feeling was so strong on him, when he approached the cottage, that he was minded to retreat, and make some excuse for not calling again. What made him change his mind was the sight of Darrel in the garden. But that Frank was in love and knew that Darrel was a suitor for Mildred's hand, a timely thought of his danger would have made him retreat. As it was, he went boldly forward, trusting in the perfection of his disguise. It had not been pierced by Denham, so it was unlikely he would be unmasked by so slow-thinking a man as Darrel. And it made the young man furiously jealous to think that Darrel should persecute Mildred with his attentions. He tried to think that in coming between he was actuated by friendship for Jarman, but, in his own passionate heart, he knew well that it was a personal resentment. Mrs. Perth had brought her everlasting knitting into the garden, and was seated in a cane chair under the elm. Near her was Mildred, looking in Frank's helpless eyes more beautiful than ever. And to make him the more jealous, Mildred was winding a ball of red wool for Mrs. Perth from a skein held by Darrel. The Rhodesian was, as usual, big and sullen, and appeared much too gigantic for the little garden. It was a modern picture of Hercules and Omphale; and Frank, realising his own helplessness, raged inwardly, as he was smilingly welcomed by Mrs. Perth. Mildred, after a nod, cast down her eyes with a flush on her face, and attended assiduously to her work. Hercules scowled. "I'm so glad to see you," said Mrs. Perth in her precise voice. "Do you know Mr. Darrel?" Naturally Frank said that he had not the pleasure, and was introduced at once. Darrel lifted his heavy eyes with a grunt, and paid no further attention to the secretary. But he was quite as jealous as Frank; and Mildred, the cause of this feeling in both breasts, became aware that the weather was thundery. However, she chatted brightly, and divided her attentions equally, being helped by Mrs. Perth. That good lady never suspected what was going on under her nose.