"My business again," snapped Mrs. Ward, becoming bolder. "I had my reason for wishing to recall your son's death to her mind, and I knew that the yellow holly would do so most successfully. When Dorothy came from the Park and told me that Brendon was to stop with his friend at Mrs. Jersey's boarding-house, I thought that it would be better to let George wear the sprig. And I managed it in such a way that neither Dorothy nor George guessed how I planned the business. And I succeeded. Mrs. Jersey saw the sprig and nearly fainted. I knew then that----" Here she stopped. Derrington saw that it was useless to question her further. She would only lie, and had been telling lies, for all he knew. Moreover, he did not think she could tell him anything pertinent to the case. "I shall ask you nothing more," he said, rising to take his leave. "You have some reason for all this intrigue, I have no doubt. What your intentions are, matters little to me. I came merely to warn you that Brendon is to be left alone." "You won't have him arrested?" "No. And what is more, I won't have him spoken about in connection with that crime." Mrs. Ward forgot her desire to conciliate Derrington, forgot her desire to marry Vane to Dorothy, forgot everything in a sudden access of rage. "I shall do what I choose!" she cried. "No," said Derrington, quietly, and looking her full in the face, "you will obey me." "Obey you, Lord Derrington?" "Yes. I have tried to conduct this interview quietly, Mrs. Ward, and to hint that your wiser plan is to be silent, but----" "I don't want hints. I wish for plain speaking," raged the little woman. "How dare you address me like this?" The old gentleman leaned forward suddenly and whispered a short sentence in her ear. Mrs. Ward's face turned pearly white and she tottered to a chair, closing her eyes as she fell into it. Derrington surveyed her with a pitiless expression. "You will be silent about Brendon?" he asked. "Yes," moaned Mrs. Ward. "I will say nothing." When Derrington departed Mrs. Ward retired to bed after canceling her engagements for the evening. For twenty-four hours she stopped there, explaining to Dorothy that she was taking a rest cure. It apparently did her good, for on the evening of the day appointed for the meeting at the Cecil she arose looking bright and quite herself again. She had quite got over the fright given to her by Derrington, and, when she saw him later, treated him quite in her old manner. On his side the old gentleman made no difference, but he wondered how she was carrying herself so boldly. At once it occurred to his suspicious mind that there was some reason for this defiant behavior, and he determined to watch her. For this purpose he joined the party. "It is the first time I have been to a music-hall for years," he explained to Dorothy; "but Walter has been talking so much about this new dancer that I felt I must see her." "Why did you not dine with us at the Cecil?" asked Dorothy.