* * * * *

He had just finished dressing next morning, when he chanced to see from
the front window of his room, which commanded the main stretch of the
park, the figure of a lady on one of the paths. She seemed to be
returning from the farther end of a long avenue, and was evidently
hurrying to reach the house. As she approached, however, she turned
aside into a shrubbery walk and was soon lost to view. But Ashe had
recognized Mademoiselle D. The matter of the letter recurred to him. He
guessed that she had already delivered it. But where?

At breakfast Lady Kitty did not appear. Ashe made inquiries of the
younger Miss Grosville, who replied with some tartness that she supposed
Kitty had a cold, and hurried off herself to dress for Sunday-school. It
was not at all the custom for young ladies to breakfast in bed on
Sundays at Grosville Park, and Lady Grosville's brow was clouded. Ashe
felt it a positive effort to tell her that he was not going to church,
and when she had marshalled her flock and carried them off, those left
behind knew themselves, indeed, as heathens and publicans.

Ashe wandered out with some official papers and a pipe into the spring
sunshine. Mr. Kershaw, the editor, would gladly have caught him for a
political talk. But Ashe would not be caught. As to the interests of
England in the Persian Gulf, both they and Mr. Kershaw might for the
moment go hang. Would Lady Kitty meet him in the old garden at
eleven-thirty, or would she not? That was the only thing that mattered.

However, it was still more than an hour to the time mentioned. Ashe
spent a while in roaming a wood delicately pied with primroses and