The bearing of Winifred Lloyd now became somewhat of a riddle to me; and on the morning of the third day, when we all met at the breakfast table (which was littered by cards and notes of congratulation), and when Lady Estelle appeared, looking so pale and beautiful, declining Mademoiselle Babette's cosmetics and pearl-powder alike, in the loveliest morning-dress that Swan and Edgar could produce, I was conscious that she watched us with an interest that seemed wistful, tearful, and earnest. Whether I had a tell-tale face, I know not. Nothing, however, could be gathered from that of Estelle, or her mode of greeting me and inquiring about the progress of my broken arm towards recovery. My ring was on her finger; but as she wore several, it passed unnoticed, and even Dora's quick eye failed to detect it. Winifred had become very taciturn; and when I asked her to drive with me in the open carriage--as for a time I could not ride--she declined rather curtly, and with something of petulance, even disdain, in her tone. She never had the usual inquiries made by others concerning my fracture, nor joined with Dora in the playful rivalry of the ladies cutting for me, if no servant was near; for at table I was of course helpless. She smiled seldom, but laughed frequently; and yet it struck me there was something unwonted in the ring of her laughter, as if it came not from her heart. The girl had a secret sorrow evidently. Was Master Phil Caradoc at the bottom of this? If not, who then? I watched her from time to time, and observed that once, when our eyes met, she seemed confused, and coloured perceptibly. "Surely," thought I, "she is not resenting my half-flirtation with her the other day, when we visited her pet goat!" She was restless, absent, listlessly indifferent, and occasionally preoccupied in manner; and in vain did I say to her more than once, "Miss Lloyd--Winifred--what troubles you? what has vexed you?" "Nothing troubles me, Mr. Hardinge." "_Mr.?_" "Well, then, Harry--and nothing vexes me. What leads you to think so?" Her full-fringed dark eyes looked clearly into mine; they seemed moist, yet defiant, and she tossed her pretty little head wilfully and petulantly. I felt that I had in some way displeased her; but dared not press the matter, for, with all her softness of heart, she had a little Welsh temper of her own. Phil Caradoc gave me his entire confidence, especially after dinner, when men become full of talk, and inspired by bland and generous impulses. He related, without reserve, the whole episode that occurred in the conservatory; and I felt some compunction or annoyance that circumstances prevented me from having the same frankness with him, for none would have rejoiced in my success more warmly than he.