"You are only a little goose, my dear, in the ways of the world," rejoined Mrs. Page Reid. "Where's the man that does not like to talk with a pretty woman? Lord Level, of all others, does." "_He_ does?" "Well, he used to do so. Of course he has mended his manners. And the women, mind you, liked to talk to him. But don't take up the notion, please, that by saying that I insinuate any unorthodox talking," added Mrs. Page Reid as an after-thought, when she caught a look at Lady Level's tell-tale countenance. "I shall ask Lord Level----" "_Ask nothing_," impressively spoke the elder lady, cutting short the words. "Say nothing to your husband. Take my advice, Lady Level, for it is good. There is no mortal sin a wife can commit so repugnant in her husband's eyes as that of spying upon his actions. It would make him detest her in the end." "But I was not spying. We saw it by accident." "All the same. Let it pass from your mind as though it had never been." Blanche was dubious. _If_ there was no harm, why should she not speak of it?--and she could not think there was harm. And if there _was_--why, she would not have breathed it to him for the world. Dismissing the subject, she and Mrs. Page Reid sat down to a quiet game at cards. When Lord Level came in, their visitor said good-night. Blanche sat on in silence and torment. Should she speak, or should she not? Lord Level seemed buried in a reverie. "Archibald," she presently began. "Yes," he answered, rousing himself. "I--we--I and Mrs. Page Reid went out for a little walk in the moonlight. And----" "Well, my dear?" "We saw you," Blanche was wishing to say; but somehow her courage failed her. Her breath was short, her throat was beating. "And it was very pleasant," she went on. "As warm and light as day." "Just so," said Lord Level. "But the night air is treacherous, apt to bring fever. Do not go out again in it, love." So her effort to speak had failed. And the silence only caused her to think the more. Blanche Level would have given her best diamond earrings to know who that person was in the gold ones. An evening or two further on, when she was quite alone, Lord Level having again strolled out, she threw on the same fleecy shawl and betook herself down the road to the cottage in the grove--the cottage that looked like a pretty bower in the evergreens. And--yes---- Well, it was a strange thing--a startling thing; startling, anyway, to poor Blanche Level's heart; but there, on the self-same bench, side by side, sat Lord Level and the Italian girl. Her face looked more beautiful than before to the young wife's jealous eyes; the gold earrings glittered and sparkled in the moonlight. He and she were conversing in a low, earnest voice, and Lord Level was smoking a cigar.