George Godolphin laughed. Perhaps his conscience told him that he _had_ implied more, in a certain pressure he remembered giving to that fair hand, which was resting now, gauntleted, upon her reins. Gay George had meant to dissipate Ashlydyat's ennui, if nothing more tempting offered. But something more tempting did offer: and he had spent the evening in the company of one who was more to him than was Charlotte Pain. "An unavoidable engagement arose, Miss Pain. Otherwise you may rely upon it I should have been at Ashlydyat." "Unavoidable!" she replied, her eyes gleaming with something very like anger into those which smiled on her. "I know what your engagement was. You were at Lady Godolphin's Folly." "Right. Commanded to it by my father." "Oh!" "Solicited, if not absolutely commanded," he continued. "And a wish from Sir George now bears its weight: we may not have him very long with us." A smile of mockery, pretty and fascinating to look upon, played upon her rich red lips. "It is edifying to hear these filial sentiments expressed by Mr. George Godolphin! Take you care, sir, to act up to them." "Do you think I need the injunction? How shall I make my peace with you?" "By coming to Ashlydyat some other evening while the present moon lasts. I mean, while it illumines the early part of the evening." She dropped her voice to a low key, and her tone had changed to seriousness. George Godolphin looked at her in surprise. "What is the superstition," she continued to whisper, "that attaches to Ashlydyat?" "Why do you ask me this?" he hastily said. "Because, yesterday evening, when I was sitting on that seat under the ash-trees, watching the road from Lady Godolphin's Folly--well, watching for you, if you like it better: but I can assure you there is nothing in the avowal that need excite your vanity, as I see it is doing. When a gentleman makes a promise, I expect him to keep it; and, looking upon your coming as a matter of course, I did watch for you; as I might watch for one of Mrs. Verrall's servants, had I sent him on an errand and expected his return." "Thank you," said George Godolphin, with a laugh. "But suffer my vanity to rest in abeyance for a while, will you, and go on with what you were saying?" "Are you a convert to the superstition?" she inquired, disregarding the request. "N--o," replied George Godolphin. But his voice sounded strangely indecisive. "Pray continue, Charlotte." It was the first time he had ever called her by her Christian name: and though she saw that it was done in the unconscious excitement of the moment, her cheeks flushed to a deeper crimson. "Did you ever see the Shadow?" she breathed. He bowed his head. "What form does it take?" George Godolphin did not answer. He appeared lost in thought, as he scored his horse's neck with his hunting-whip.