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A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These, without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.

One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst it open.

“Hm,” she said. “First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at the Times, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet.”

“I should think so, by Jupiter,” said Marmaduke, patiently interrupting his meal to open the newspaper.

“Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. ‘The latest Parisian

success. La petite Maison du Roi. Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.

Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of

M. de Jongleur’s opera bouffe La petite Maison du Roi, entitled King

Lewis on the lewis’ — what the deuce does that mean?”

“On the loose, of course.”

“But it is spelt l-e-w —— oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of idiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has a separate line of large print. Here you are: ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame Dubarry’ — —”

“Is that at the top?”

“Yes.”

“Before Rose Stella?”

“Yes. Why! — I didnt notice it before — you are down fifteen times!

Every alternate space has your name over again. ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame

Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix

Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as la belle Jeanneton.’

By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five

hundred years before Madame Dubarry was born.”

“Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am down fifteen times.”

“I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting what we pay for when we dine in town.”

“Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully low without it.”

“All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure your health, I dont care. Here’s a letter of yours put among mine by mistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth.”

“It’s from Ned,” said Susanna, turning pale. “He must be coming home, or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?”

“What does he say?” said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. “‘Back at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C.’ Short and sweet! Well, he will not turn up til tomorrow, at all events, even if he knows the address, which of course he doesnt.”

“He knows nothing. His note shews that. What will he do when he finds me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her own information. There is no mistake about it,” said Susanna, rising and walking to the window: “I am in a regular funk about him. I have half a mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder out gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he discovers anything.”

“Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you — and a good job too.”

“I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know for certain that he would.”

“He cant be so very thinskinned as you fancy, considering the time you have been on the stage.”

“There’s nothing wrong in being on the stage. There’s nothing wrong in being here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care about Ned, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him; and he has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes: he will not get much satisfaction from me.” Susanna sat down again, and drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.

“Dont think any more about it,” said Marmaduke. “He wont come.”

“Oh, let him, if he likes,” said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke did not quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that Conolly would have the good sense to keep away.

“Look here, Bob,” said she, when they had finished breakfast. “Let us go somewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up the river.”

“All right,” said Marmaduke, with alacrity. “Whatever you please. How shall we go?”

“Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settle what to do afterward. Can you come now?”

“Yes, whenever you are ready.”

“Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself with that blessed old lawn-mower until I come.”

“Yes, I think I will,” said Marmaduke, seriously. “That plot near the gate wants a trimming badly.”

“What a silly old chap you are, Bob!” she said, stopping to kiss him on each cheek as she left the room.

Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since his domestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plot near the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a few turns with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, and saw Conolly standing so close to him that he started backward, and made a vague movement as if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused by the mowing, said quietly: “That machine wants oiling: the clatter prevented you from hearing me come. I have just returned from Carbury Towers. Miss Lind is staying there; and she has asked me to give you a message.”

This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly was ignorant of Susanna’s proceedings, but he had not sufficient effrontery to welcome him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at him.

“I am afraid I have startled you,” Conolly went on, politely. “I found the gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time to ring the bell. You have a charming little place here.”

“Yes, it’s a pretty little place, isnt it?” said Marmaduke. “A — wont you come in and have a — excuse my bringing you round this way, will you? My snuggery is at the back of the house.”

“Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of business to do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go.”

“At any rate, come into the shade,” said Marmaduke, glancing uneasily toward the windows of the house. “This open place is enough to give us sunstroke.”

Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they sat down on a bench.

“Is there anything up?” said Marmaduke, much oppressed.

“Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?”

“Oh, certainly. Fire away!”

“Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and Lady Constance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way men feel bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters of your own?”

Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly’s face.

“It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtship too cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, the Countess being strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted to you.”

“Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?”

“This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the ears of the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to know what use a bachelor can have for such an establishment.”

“But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. It was taken for another person.”

“Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss Lind thinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel with your family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once.”

“But I cant go away just now. There are reasons.”

“Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasons for wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed my commission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied.”

“Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of town to give me the straight tip,” said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect of getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. “It is very good of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Park is, isnt it? How will the shooting be?”

“First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself.” They had risen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate.

“Shall I see you down there — if I go?”

“Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get my luggage, in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper.”

“I hope so,” said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, he proffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily, “Goodbye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible.”

Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: “Goodbye, Mr.

Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask — how is Susanna?”

Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Before he recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to Hampton, emerged from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Conolly, still wearing the cordial expression with which he had shaken Marmaduke’s hand, looked at her, then at her protector, and then at her again.

“I have been admiring the villa, Susanna,” said he, after an emphatic silence. “It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind my hurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Lind.”

Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid his guest goodbye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minute watching him as he strode away.

“What does he care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!” cried

Susanna, passionately.

“He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of,” said Marmaduke.

“Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George,

Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across.”

“What brought him here?” she demanded, vehemently.

“That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a few days.”

“And what am I to do here alone? Are you going to leave me too?”

“Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you can manage to get on without me for a few days.”

“I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go home.”

“Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford to quarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable.”

“What do I care about your people, or about you either?”

“Very well, then,” said Marmaduke, offended, “you can go home if you like. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I dont.”

“Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do you flatter yourself that I am dependent on you?”

“Hold your tongue,” said Marmaduke, fiercely. “Dont you turn on me in that fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine.”

“You have ruined me,” said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, and beginning to cry.

“Oh, upon my soul, this is too much,” said Marmaduke, with disgust. “Get up out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed! Will you get up?”

“No!” screamed Susanna.

“Then stay where you are and be damned,” retorted Marmaduke, turning on his heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maid carrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet.

“Missis is looking for you, sir,” said the maid.

“All right,” said Marmaduke, “I have seen her. Listen to me. I am going to the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps, and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address from the card in the strap of my valise.”

“Yes, sir,” said the maid. “Any message for missis?”

“No,” said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went out again. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and was walking toward the house.

“I am going to Carbury,” he said. “I dont know when I shall be back.”

She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him.