remained keen. To this coterie of avowed Republicans, young Richard
Lambert--secretary or what-not to Sir Marmaduke, a paid dependent at any
rate--was not worth more than a curt nod of the head, a condescending
acknowledgment of his existence at best.

But Lady Sue had not even bestowed the nod. She had not actually taken
notice of his presence when he came; the wistful look had vanished as
soon as the young man's harsh voice had broken on her ear: she did not
look on him now that he went.

She was busy with her game. Nathless her guardian's secretary was of no
more importance in the rich heiress's sight than that mute row of
nine-pins at the end of the alley, nor was there, mayhap, in her mind
much social distinction between the hollow-eyed lad who set them up
stolidly from time to time, and the silent young student who wrote those
letters which Sir Marmaduke had not known how to spell.




CHAPTER III

THE EXILE


But despite outward indifference, with the brief appearance of the
soberly-garbed young student upon the scene and his abrupt and silent
departure, all the zest seemed to have gone out of Lady Sue's mood.

The ingenuous flatteries of her little court irritated her now: she no