Outside, Mr. Bodwin’s private carriage still stood waiting. They trooped out and got into it and went skimming off through the darkness again. Crumplesea was like a cemetery now, so still and black and lifeless it was. They scudded through it and whirled out upon the cliffs, with the sea droning and curling long zigzag lines of froth far down below them, and the moonless sky stretching velvet-dark above. For twenty minutes or so they drove along with the wind in their faces, the blown salt scent of the sea in their nostrils; then the carriage swung suddenly round a curve that took it inland, bowled along a quiet road hedged with brambles and overhung with trees, and, whirling at length out of this, came full upon an immense double row of oaks leading up to a building set in the midst of a sort of park. What it was like, this building, the darkness made it impossible to ascertain with any degree of certainty, but in the lower windows of it lights were burning and gave vague glimpses of a long, broad veranda curtained with flowering vines and of a stone-railed terrace dotted at regular intervals with urns that were full of flowers. “Here we are; this is Thetford Towers,” said Mr. Bodwin, in a whisper. But before he could say more, a flash of nearer light revealed the presence of a lodge--half lost in a wilderness of vines--and of a man looming out to open the gates. “It’s you at last, sir,” the man said, as he made everything ready for the vehicle to enter the grounds. “Mrs. Bonair has been watching for you this long time, sir. I think you’ll find her in the veranda, sir. It’s an uncommon hot night, and she is a rare one for fresh air, as no doubt you know.” “Well, she will get something more than ‘fresh air’ in this case,” said Rosalind, with a soft, low laugh, as the carriage swept by and bowled up the broad driveway to the house. “Fancy the old cat living in such luxury as this and never giving a farthing piece to me. You wait! I’ll make her pay dear for it! She shall pour out sacks of money to me before to-morrow night, or I’ll disgrace her so that she’ll never show her face in public again. Look, will you? Look! There’s somebody walking up and down that terrace, and it’s a woman, I can see her passing by those lighted windows.” “’S-h-h-! it’s Mrs. Bonair herself,” whispered Mr. Bodwin. “I’ve seen her too many years to be mistaken in her. My dear, if you wouldn’t mind my stopping here----” “Of course, I don’t. Didn’t I say you shouldn’t be known in the affair? Stop at once and let me go on alone. Milt, if there’s another glassful left in that bottle I’ll take it.” “Better not, Rose; you’ve had enough, I’m thinking.” “Never mind what you are ‘thinking,’ I’m the best judge of what I want. A fresh glassful and a fresh cigarette, please; I’m going to interview my sister-in-law. Thank you so much! Here’s health and prosperity to all of us. And now--for trouble.”