know was in the smoking-room, with a fearful headache, and Mr.
Markrute, who was with the Duke."

"Was he with the Duke?" queried the Crow.

"Crow!" almost gasped Lady Anningford. "Do you mean to tell me that you
think Ethelrida would have her face looking like that about a foreigner!
My dear friend, you must have taken leave of your seven senses--" and
then she paused, for several trifles came back to her recollection,
connected with these two, which, now that the Crow had implanted a
suspicion in her breast, began to assume considerable proportions.

Ethelrida had talked of most irrelevant matters always during their
good-night chats, unless the subject happened to be Zara, and she had
never once mentioned Mr. Markrute personally or given any opinion about
him; and yet, as Anne had seen, they had often talked. There must be
something in it, but that was not enough to account for Ethelrida's
face. A pale, rather purely colorless complexion like hers did not
suddenly change to bright scarlet cheeks, without some practical means!
And, as Anne very well knew, kisses were a very practical means! But her
friend Ethelrida would never allow any man to kiss her, unless she had
promised to marry him. Now, if it had been Lily Opie, she could not have
been so sure, though she hoped she could be sure of any nice girl; but
about Ethelrida she could take her oath. It followed, as Ethelrida had
been quite pale at lunch and was not a person who went to sleep over
fires, something extraordinary must have happened--but what?

"Crow, dear, I have never been so thrilled in my life," she said, after
her thoughts had come to this stage. "The lurid tragedy of the honeymoon
pair cannot compare in interest to anything connected with my sweet