freshest and proudest leaf. A church tower rose appropriately in a
corner of the park, and on the other side of the deer-fence beyond the
lake a herd of red deer were feeding. Doris could not help feeling as
though the whole scene had been lately painted for a new "high life"
play at the St. James's Theatre, and she half expected to see Sir George
Alexander walk out of the bushes.

"I suppose, Mrs. Meadows, you have been helping your husband with his
lectures?" said Lady Dunstable, a little languidly, as though the heat
oppressed her. She was making play with a cigarette and her half-shut
eyes were fixed on the "lion's" wife. The eyes fascinated Doris. Surely
they were artificially blackened, above and below? And the lips--had art
been delicately invoked, or was Nature alone responsible?

"I copy things for Arthur," said Doris. "Unfortunately, I can't type."

At the sound of the young and musical voice, the gentleman with the
Dundreary whiskers--Sir Luke Malford--who had seemed half asleep, turned
sharply to look at the speaker. Doris too was in a white dress, of the
simplest stuff and make; but it became her. So did the straw hat, with
its wreath of wild roses, which she had trimmed herself that morning.
There was not the slightest visible sign of tremor in the young woman;
and Sir Luke's inner mind applauded her.

"No fool!--and a lady," he thought. "Let's see what Rachel will make of
her."

"Then you don't help him in the writing?" said Lady Dunstable, still
with the same detached air. Doris laughed.