all, convention, whether it be real or simulated, expresses one of society's efforts at self-protection."

She cast a thoughtful glance at Philida. No more stolen visits to her foster-mother, no more running about the countryside by herself, she thought.

But before she could institute this new régime, Philida had outwitted her with serious consequences.

CHAPTER XXV

UNAVOWED CONSPIRATORS

Jealousy lives upon doubt; and comes to an end, or becomes a fury as soon as it passes from doubt to jealousy.

-LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

SHORTLY after dinner, Yerington withdrew with excuses. He told the duchess that the day's happenings gave him much to think over and arrange, and she dismissed him with an arch shake of the finger, and a warning to treat all bogies of the past as they deserved to be treated, as having no present existence. He was supremely thankful that Captain Elliot chose to linger with Mistress Sybil, enduring her daring sallies of wit with admirable philosophy. At that time he, of all things, desired solitude and an interval of reflection.

Mr. Mansur was restless under his humiliation and disappointment. He started upon a ramble, shortly after Lord Yerington had taken his leave. He turned his steps towards the village of Oxholme, and chose a short cut across the fields. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile upon his way, when, to his infinite surprise, a figure in flowered muslin poised for an instant upon a stile before descent into the meadow beyond. That elfin form filled him with a tragedy of vain longing. As he looked at her the years stretched ahead of him, grey and desolate; his ambitions turned to dust and ashes; his goals withered.

An instant later he smiled bitterly.

He realised that Lady Philida, intoxicated with her joy, was flying to carry news of it to her beloved foster

mother. Had she but known it, it had already travelled far and wide by the swift medium of the back-stairs and was even now no secret in Oxholme.

Mansur walked on, keeping the light-footed figure in sight, until it vanished within the door of the Royal Arms. He knew she would go at once to Mrs. Culpepper's private rooms, which faced away from the road, and so would have no knowledge of his presence in the inn, if he went there.

He had been torturing himself by the sight of her. He told himself that just so she had danced through his life, alluring him, yet ever beyond him. His hatred for Yerington was intensified, for the earl had triumphed over him on this the day he had planned for his humiliation. He felt as if he could have stretched out his hand and destroyed Lady Philida, as though she were indeed the fairy creature she looked, rather than have to endure again the sight of the love in her eyes he had read there that day, as she looked toward Yerington.

When he reached the inn, he stood before it, lost in thought. From the midst of his abstraction, he glanced up to observe two hostlers washing the yellow wheels of a chaise. His eyes, ever observant, caught sight of a coat of arms upon the panel. His expression changed. Almost instinctively he looked up to a casement of the window above his head. It was as if he already knew he would gaze into a pair of yellow-brown eyes.

A glove fluttered to his feet.

"My challenge, sir," called a laughing voice. "Return you dare."

it if

A moment later, without awaiting the ceremony of announcement, found him knocking at the door of the room from which Lady Caroline had smiled at him.

Come in," called her voice.

He entered, and faced her. She was clad in a dark

green travelling-dress, her hair clubbed, and her hat flung upon the oaken table.

"I accept your challenge, your ladyship," said Mr. Mansur, bending to salute the careless hand she extended to him. “In days of old 'twould have spurred knights to valorous deeds, I'll be bound."

She smiled, watching him speculatively.

"The knights of to-day put much upon the shoulders of the centuries," she said.

"Has your ladyship commands?" he asked. "Your most humble and obedient servant is at your service."

He watched her, as she turned away, and placed one small booted foot upon the rim of the empty hearth. He was assured she had just experienced a great shock. None of this appeared in her attitude.

"My

"You are visiting in the neighbourhood, Mr. Mansur?" she said, delicately smothering a yawn. Lord Yerington has the pleasure?"

Mr. Mansur suppressed a smile.

""Tis my privilege to be visiting her Grace of Croome," he answered.

At that moment the title had no power to lighten his mood.

She gave a quick glance, and disguised a start by a hand, raised to straighten a stray lock of hair.

"I did not know you knew her. Her grace has been little in town of late."

Mr. Mansur perceived that this was a sneer at his recent acceptance in her world, and registered it against her.

66 And your ladyship is also visiting in the neighbourhood?"

66

La, no," she answered. "I am on my way to Wardsleigh Abbey."

"I should have thought," said Mansur, studying the

clouded amber of his cane, "that the way to Wardsleigh Abbey scarce lay through Oxholme."

"The roads are better by this route, though the inns are not fit for Christians," she answered.

She stooped to pick up her handkerchief that had fallen. As she straightened herself, her eyes met his. There was a cool challenge in them, as if she defied him. to suspect her of any deeper interest than she was openly displaying.

"Great news! great news!" she said, in imitation of the criers. "I've learned within the hour that Yerington is a captive at last."

He did not reply. The lash was quivering about his shoulders also. They were both practised dissemblers, but she was a woman, and for an instant she had him at a disadvantage. When he did not reply, she laughed to conceal a catch in her throat.

"I am told she's a mere child," she drawled ; a portionless baby, who has never seen the town, and who will wile away his moments with virtuous little mottoes learned at school. Lud, I can scarce contain myself for laughing."

She raised her hand to check her merriment, but Mansur's relentless eyes noticed that it trembled.

"Of her youth there is no question," he answered.

She flashed round at him, each of her thirty years stinging in her memory.

"Hath the baby bewitched you too?" she asked.

His eyes met hers unfalteringly. She was turning him into an implacable enemy, and slowly the determination to make a tool of her was crystallising in his mind. What better tool than a jealous, ruthless woman could a man wish? He began to speak, intending to sting her into a mood to suit his purpose. But he overestimated his strength. The picture he drew burned into his own