"Isn't it queer to have a garden so far away from the house," the girl remarked, "but I dare say you've heard that the late Marquis of Mandeleys was mad about underground passages. There is one existing somewhere or other to the summer house in that garden from the Abbey, and lots of others. I am not at all sure that there isn't one to Broomleys." "Haven't you been afraid sometimes lest the ghosts of the dead monks might pay you an unexpected visit?" She shook her head. "They always held the funeral services in the chapel," she explained, "but the burying place is at the side of the hill there. You can see the Mandeleys vault from here." "And the cypress trees," David pointed out. "I wonder how old they are." "The American of you!" she scoffed. "You ought to love Mandeleys--and Broomleys. Everything about the place is musty and ancient and worn out. You know the Marquis, don't you?" "Slightly," David assented. "Is he really human," she asked, "or is he something splendidly picturesque which has just stepped out of one of the frames in his picture gallery? I can never make up my mind. He is so beautiful to look at, but he doesn't look as though he belonged to this generation, and why on earth they ever used to call him 'The Wicked Marquis' I can't imagine. I've tried him myself," she went on ingenuously, "in no end of ways, but he treats me always as though I were some grandchild, walking on stilts. Of course you're in love with Lady Letitia?" "Must I be?" "But isn't it all absolutely preordained?" she insisted, "in fact, it's almost depressingly obvious. Here are the Mandeleys estates, the finest in Norfolk, mortgaged up to the hilt, the Abbey shut up, the Marquis and all of them living on credit, the family fortunes at their lowest ebb. And here come you, an interesting American stranger, with more millions than the world has ever heard of before. Of course you marry Lady Letitia and release the estates!" "Do I!" he murmured. "Well, it seems plausible." "It has to be done," she decided, with a sigh. "It's a pity." "Why?" She shook her head. "We mustn't flirt. We should be interfering with the decrees of Providence.--What an interesting-looking woman! You know her, too." They passed Marcia and her companion, about half-way to Fakenham. Marcia bowed cheerfully and looked with interest at Sylvia. "I know her very slightly," David admitted. "She doesn't belong to these parts," Sylvia said. "We've lived here for nearly seven years, you know, and I know every one for miles round, by sight." "She came originally from somewhere in the neighbourhood, I believe," David observed. "Tell me everything about her, please?" his companion demanded. "I am a born gossip." "You finish with the romance of Mandeleys first," he suggested evasively.